


Stapp's Ironical Paradox

by SwimmingSwans



Series: Adages to Live by [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek is a Failwolf, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Post 3a, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingSwans/pseuds/SwimmingSwans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The universal aptitude for ineptitude makes any human accomplishment an incredible miracle.” In which Stiles believes the same applies to werewolves and other nonhuman entities. Not 3b compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stapp's Ironical Paradox

 

 

 

_You have reached the voicemail of… 925-717-3261…”_

Huh. Stiles was anticipating one of those _‘the number you have dialed…’_ messages. He thought for sure that Derek would have ditched his old phone by now and gotten a new one. That seems like something an asshole like Derek Hale would do.

_“… please leave a message after the tone…”_

Might as well give it a shot.

“Uh… hi, Derek,” Stiles starts. “This is Stiles calling. Stiles Stilinski, that is, and um… yeah. I don’t know if you remember me. You probably do, but maybe you don’t. I don’t know. You’re kind of…” he clears his throat. “Anyways, I’m calling because there are these Huldrene hanging out in the preserve, and Deaton said that your mom used to have this magical amulet thing. He said that the amulet wouldn’t have been damaged by fire because it’s, you know, _magical_. So I was wondering if you had any idea what happened to it. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t really important, and… uh… yeah, that’s about it. Call me back. Bye.”

Okay, that wasn’t so bad, though Stiles sincerely doubts he’ll be hearing from Derek any time soon. Maybe he should try Cora? They sort of bonded that night he gave her CPR.

 Sort of.

Isaac might have her phone number. Actually, Isaac should be the one calling the Hale siblings. He lived with them. That means Derek tolerated him. Scott would have better luck too. Derek at least respected Scott. These days everyone seems to respect Scott. Stiles on the other hand… Derek neither respects nor tolerates him. It was always ‘shut up, Stiles’ or ‘go away, Stiles’ or ‘put that down, Stiles’ or ‘shut up, Stiles’ or ‘shut up, Stiles’ or ‘if you don’t stop talking, Stiles, I’m going to _make_ you stop talking. _Permanently._ ’

But at least that meant Derek was using his words. No shoving or smashing. That’s progress, right?

 

 

Derek responds.

Stiles checks his phone for messages the next day between third and fourth period and sees that he has a text. A text from Derek Hale.

Derek H. (3:12) I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. I KNOW SHE HAD A SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX BUT I DON’T KNOW WHERE AND I DON’T HAVE THE KEY.

Well now that’s something.

 

 

About a week later, against his better judgment, Stiles calls and leaves another message.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says. “It’s me again. I, uh, wanted to tell you that we found the box and took care of the Huldrene problem. The amulet helped, so thanks, I guess.” Stiles scratches his head. “We’re all okay… in case you were wondering, which, I know, you probably weren’t. You probably don’t want to hear about this crap. _I_ would _totally_ want to hear about this crap, but you’re not me. You’re kind of like the anti-me, so you’d probably want the opposite of what I want, right?” And if he were curious he would have asked. “No one got hurt this time,” Stiles tells him anyways. “Though I was actually held hostage for a few hours. Scott and Allison haven’t gotten back together yet so I’m the one who keeps getting kidnapped. I’ve been abducted on six separate occasions in the past two months. This time it wasn’t that bad though. My captor, this Huldrekarl named Magnus, gave me cinnamon graham crackers and, _dude_ , cinnamon graham crackers are _the best_. He was really attractive too, and I know he was into me, but I just couldn’t deal with the tail. Isaac didn’t even notice so he accidentally— _beeeeeep._

 

So that happens to Stiles Stilinski more often then he's comfortable admitting. He debates whether or not to call again, and in the end decides it's neccessary. He didn't say what he needed to say.

“Hi. It cut me off and I hadn’t even gotten to the reason…” Stiles takes a deep breath. “The amulet wasn’t the only thing in the box. I can’t tell you what else there is, because I haven’t really taken inventory. If my mom had left a box like that… I don’t think I’d be okay with strangers rifling through it. That just feels… wrong, and I wouldn’t want to be… disrespectful. Let me know if you want me to send it to you and Cora or give it to Peter or destroy it. Yeah, so… bye.”

 

 

Stiles waits three weeks to hear from the Derek before he sends him a text. He won’t bother with another phone call. Just thinking about those stupid voice messages makes his insides squirm.

 

Stiles S.  (10:14) SO DO YOU WANT IT OR NOT?

Derek H. (10:52) WHAT?

Stiles S.  (10:55) WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH THE BOX?

Derek H. (10:57) WHAT BOX?

Stiles S.  (10:57) THE BOX.

Stiles S.  (10:58) DID YOU LISTEN TO THE MESSAGES I SENT YOU?

Derek H. (11:11) NO

Stiles S.   (11:12) SERIOUSLY?

Derek H. (11:30) I LISTENED TO THE FIRST AND DELETED THE SECOND.

Stiles S.   (11:30) WHY?

Stiles S.   (11:31) IT WASN’T JUST A SOCIAL CALL.

Derek H. (11:37) YOU WERE RAMBLING. I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS IMPORTANT.

Derek H. (12:05) IS THIS ABOUT THE SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX?

Derek H. (12:12) WHY WOULD I WANT IT?

Derek H. (12:28) WHAT’S IN IT?

Derek H. (12:45) STILES?

Derek H. (12:50) PICK UP THE PHONE, STILES.

Derek H. (12:54) PICK UP THE PHONE!

 

Derek must be stupider then he looks if he thinks he can tell Stiles what to do. The guy is a lot easier to ignore when he’s not lurking in the shadows or bleeding out in his passenger’s seat. Derek can’t physically compel him to do jack shit from all the way over on the other side of the country, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from sending a few colorful text messages featuring some less-than creative threats. He either doesn’t realize that the effects of the threats are muted by the distance, or he just doesn’t care. Probably the latter.

So Stiles won’t be answering Derek’s calls any time soon, that’s for damn sure.

Still, his curiosity gets the better of him when a number he doesn’t recognize flashes across the screen, and in the end he just can’t resist.

“Hello?” he says into the phone.

“You broke my brother,” a familiar voice tells him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles says in reply.

“Bullshit,” Cora says. “What did you say to Derek?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replies. “Why?” he asks a little gleefully. “Is he pissed?”

“He just stormed out. Said he was going for a night jog.”

Stiles grins. “Were his eyebrows doing that thing? On a scale of one to ten how constipated did he look?”

 “A seven, maybe,” Cora says. “But that’s only because today was kind of a crappy day to begin with.”

“Of course it was,” Stiles says. “Does Derek Hale have any other kind?”

“Just be thankful that we’re three thousand miles away,” Cora says, sounding completely serious.

“Oh, I am,” Stiles tells her, also completely serious. “Trust me. I am.” Because the Hale siblings are nothing but trouble, and the less he has to do with them the better off he’ll be.

“So it _was_ you he was texting then.” Cora says it like this is some kind of revelation.

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles scratches his eyebrow. “I guess so.”

“Because he told me it wasn’t.”

Derek Hale has been and always will be the worst.

“And you couldn’t tell he was lying?” Stiles asks.

“We can control our heart rate,” Cora replies. “That’s kid shit to us.” Which kind of figures.

“I’ve been practicing controlling mine too,” Stiles says offhandedly. “I train with the polygraph machine at the station.” This sounds like the kind of thing the sheriff would object to, but it was actually his idea. It’s a father-son bonding activity, if you can believe that.

“What does that have to do with my brother?” Cora asks, _ever_ so patiently. “Why were you texting him?”

“We found a safety deposit box a few weeks ago,” Stiles explains. “It was your mom’s, and I… I thought you guys might want to have it…”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Cora asks. “You can’t _possibly_ be that stupid.”

“Stupid? Did you just call me stupid?” Stiles is more than a little taken aback. Why is she acting like he’s done something wrong?

“Yeah, I called you stupid,” Cora says, “but only because I thought I’d feel bad about calling you a _fucking moron,_ which is what you are.

“Hey!”

“Really, Stiles? You had to know how much that box would mean to us. Why the hell would you wait _weeks_ before making an effort to return it to its rightful owners? Of course Derek’s going to be pissed off. He probably thinks you’re pawning my mom’s stuff or auctioning it on Ebay.”

“If he doesn’t trust me with the box’s content he shouldn’t have told me about it in the first place,” Stiles says. “And,” he adds, “for the record, I called and left him a message the day after I found it. That was almost a month ago. It’s not my fault he deleted it.”

“Are you really offended?” Cora asks. “I’d probably delete your messages too.”

“I thought about calling you first,” Stiles admits. “But Isaac refused to give me your number.”

“That’s because Isaac doesn’t have my number. Did he tell you he did?”

“He tried to sell it to me.”

“How much was— ” Cora stops abruptly, and Stiles can hear something happening in the background.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Actually…” she says, “Stiles, can you hold on for just a second?”

“I can try,” he tells her honestly, and after a moment or so he gets up and begins to pace around his room.

The wait is closer to a few minutes than a few seconds, but Stiles doesn’t hang up. He spends the time trying to decipher all of the strange noises on the other end of the call: muffled words, shuffled footsteps, and a fair bit a squawking. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when the next voice he hears doesn’t belong to Cora, but the failwolf himself.

_“Stiles…”_ Derek growls.

“Derek,” Stiles says shortly, making no effort to hide his annoyance. “So much for your _night jog_.”

“Why the hell didn’t you answer your fucking phone?” Derek demands. “I called you three times!”

“Why didn’t you listen to my message?” Stiles counters, feeling anger rising up from the pit of his stomach. “I left it _weeks_ ago.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.” Derek tells him. “ _I_ was calling for a legitimate reason.”

After everything Derek still doesn’t take him seriously.

“And you just assumed I didn’t have a good reason for calling.” It’s not a question it’s a statement. “What, are my messages like _spam_ to you?”

Why, after almost and entire year of radio silence, would Stiles contact Derek if not for a legitimate reason? They weren’t friends. Stiles never went out of his way to see him when he lived in Beacon Hills. He didn’t even have the dude’s phone number. Scott had to give it to him.

Derek lets loose another frustrated growl. “Come on, Stiles. How was I supposed to know you weren’t clowning around?”

“Because I’m not a clown!” Stiles wants nothing more than to reach through the phone and punch Derek in the face. “I may be the only one around here with a sense of humor but I am not the comic relief.”

“I never said you were,” Derek says, a little defensive now.

“You implied it!” Stiles cries. “It was implied!”

“You were rambling!” Derek shouts back. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t just going to keep rambling? You _never_ shut up.”

“What does that have to do with _anything_? And just because I’m rambling doesn’t mean what I have to say isn’t important.”

“If it were worth saying it would have made it into the first message. Deleting the second when the first was gibberish was completely justified.”

Derek Hale can go fuck a bear trap. He is _ridiculous_ ,and Stiles is so done with him it’s not even funny.

“ _God_.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “You’re still the worst. The absolute worst. I should have known better then to expect anything from you.”

“Save the histrionics for somebody who actually gives a shit, okay?” And once again Stiles wants to _throttle_ him.

“I hate you,” Stiles says, half meaning it too.

“I still don’t care,” Derek tells him.

“But do you care about the box?” Stiles asks. Cora seemed to think it was pretty important.

Derek huffs then replies, “Yes, I care about the box.”

“Because if you don’t claim it now I’m handing it over to Peter.” It’s an empty threat, but it’ll be more then enough to rankle a belligerent werewolf.

“You _wouldn’t_ ,” Derek says lowly. “You hate Peter.”

“I don’t know…” Stiles says, feeling sly. “Your uncle may be a murderer and a sociopath, but back when he kidnapped me sophomore year, I remember he also gave me an watermelon flavored Jolly Rancher.” Not a lie.

“FYI, Stiles,” Derek says. “This is why no one takes you seriously. If you want respect you have to stop acting like this is all one big, giant joke.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t exist in a constant state of brooding.”

“Grow up,” Derek bites back. “Despite what you may think, nobody finds your sarcasm endearing.”

False. People love his sarcasm. Stiles Stilinski is witty as fuck. 

“I’m sorry I ever called you.”

“Good for you,” Derek says. “Just hold onto to the box for me. I’ll see you in three days.”

“I—w-what?” Stiles sputters. “Run that by me one more time?”

“I’m coming to get the box,” Derek says, like this should already be obvious.

“I can just mail it to you…” There’s really no reason for Derek to return to Beacon Hills. No reason at all.

“I don’t trust the postal service.”

Oh god. He’s serious! Does the dude trust anyone? Talk about damaged goods…

“You do realize that it’s like a forty-five hour drive…”

“It’s also a thirty minute cab ride to the airport,” Derek says, and Stiles can hear the stupid smirk in his tone. “Who said anything about driving?”

 

 

Stiles S.  (4:15) WHEN DOES YOUR FLIGHT GET IN?

Derek H. (4:23) LATER.

Stiles S.  (4:23) THANKS ASSHOLE. THAT’S REAL HELPFUL.

Derek H. (4:33) HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO GET YOUR HANDS ON IT?

Stiles S.  (4:33) WE ROBBED A BANK.

Derek H. (4:34) REALLY?

Stiles S.  (4:34) NO. MY DAD MADE SOME CALLS AND PULLED SOME STRINGS.

Stiles S.  (4:46) I’M STARTING TO THINK OPTING OUT OF USPS WAS A GOOD IDEA.

Derek H. (4:46) ?

Stiles S.  (4:47) THIS THING IS GIVING OFF WEIRD VIBES.

Stiles S.  (4:47) AND THE PEOPLE AT THE POST OFFICE HAVE SHIFTY EYES.

Derek H. (4:48) I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND.

 

 

The thing is, Stiles _really_ doesn’t want Derek to come back to Beacon Hills. Derek is kind of a downer. It’s not like all the strange happenings stopped when he left. The weird shit has actually gotten much, much weirder but it’s manageable. Stiles is a sensitive guy. He’s not afraid of Derek. Intimidated, yes, but not afraid. Not anymore. Derek is depressing, and when Stiles spent too much time in his company he felt all this vicarious grief and it brought back the memories of things he wish he could forget.

Peter once told him that losing pack member isn’t like losing family. It’s worse, supposedly. He told him it was like losing a limb.

But Stiles is calling BS on that one. How would the Hales know? Their family _was_ their pack. Do they really expect him to believe Derek felt Boyd’s death more deeply than Stile’s felt the death of his mother?

Stiles remembers visiting his mom in the hospital. He remembers watching her grow weak and he remembers holding her hand. He remembers how her grip tightened before it when slack. Before the heart monitor flat-lined and she took her last breath. He remembers the sound of his father crying behind closed doors when he thought Stiles was outside playing or in bed asleep. And then there were the panic attacks. Stiles wonders if Derek got panic attacks after the fire. He wonders what Derek would do to him if he asked.

Fuck, just the sound of Derek’s voice reminds him of the terror he felt when that pyscho English teacher abducted his dad.

So no, Stiles isn’t particularly looking forward to seeing his face. That’s not to say that Derek doesn’t have a nice face. It’s kind of grumpy and his eyes are a little too far apart, but he’s still one of the most beautiful people Stiles knows IRL.

Except when he smiles. He’s got an unfortunate smile. That’s probably why he’s so broody. Because he looks like a troll when he smiles.

“You’re staring,” Derek says, snapping Stiles out of his reverie. “Stop staring.”

Stiles snorts. “This coming from the guy who used to skulk in the shadows like it was his job.” Now those were the days…

“You know for a second there I had forgotten why I didn’t like you,” Derek says icily. “I appreciate the reminder.”

“Any time,” Stiles says, grinning because he knows his own smile is _flaw~lesssssss_.

“The two of you are unbearable,” Cora says, looking pretty freakin’ fierce in her camo tank top. “I should have never left New York.”

“I’m glad you came,” Stiles tells her. “I’ve always liked you better than your brother.”

“Oh yeah?” Cora smiles slightly and raises one eyebrow, a challenge. “Why’s that?”

“We had a moment.”

“A moment,” Derek repeats, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Do you remember having a moment with Stiles Stilinski?” he asks Cora.

“No,” she says flatly.

“It was in the back of the ambulance,” Stiles tells her.

Cora frowns. “What ambulance?”

“The one at hospital. It’s okay if you don’t remember. You were unconscious at the time. You were dead, actually. But trust me, it was a moment.”

“Oh.” Cora takes a sip of her coffee then says, “I thought maybe you were referring to that night in the loft or the afternoon in your bedroom.”

Derek makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon. It’s still better than his smile. Yes, the Sourwolf face is much preferable to his smile.

“Excuse me?” Derek says, while next to him Cora chokes on her drink.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Stiles asks, trying and failing not to turn red.

“Yes,” Derek replies. “You said that out loud.”

“You have a stupid smile,” Stiles explains, because he obviously has no sense of self-preservation. “It makes you look like a deranged serial killer, instead of, you know, the regular kind.” He clears his throat then adds, “You’re still… objectively attractive, if that makes you feel any better.”

And Stiles is guessing that it doesn’t. Derek’s withering stare has turned even more hostile. It’s his _sexy_ serial killer face. Stiles knows _that_ expression all too well.

Derek narrows his eyes and says, “If you don’t stop talking, I’m going to make good on my promise.”

“What promise?” Stiles questions, brow furrowing.

“To rip your throat out,” Derek says, leaning forward, “with my teeth.”

A few years ago, those words would have been enough to make Stiles totally lose his shit. Now he just feels a rush of warmth and affection, which is probably even more fucked up.

“I think maybe I did miss you, after all,” he says, a smile dangling off the corner of his lips. “If you want to sneak into my bedroom later and slam me up against a wall, I’d be down for that.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” It Derek’s turn to choke this time.

Cora smirks. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s had a moment with Stiles Stilinski.”

“I didn’t mean that sexually, of course,” Stiles says quickly. He can feel his face flushing again. “It’s just… your menacing is usually very hands on and kind of… predatory. That was not an invitation to bang, physically or literally. Please don’t show up at my house tonight. For any reason.”

“Bummer,” Cora deadpans. “You have a comfortable bed.” She eyes Stiles in a way that’s more threatening than it is flirtatious. “I liked that blue blanket; it was soft. And your mattress was very… firm. I liked it too.”

“The mattresses at the motel are plenty firm,” Derek tells her. “Leave Stiles and his bed alone.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, “if Cora wants to be friends—”

“Cora does not want to be your friend,” Derek cuts in. “And neither do I. After today, don’t expect to hear from either of us again.”

What makes him so sure Stiles would even want to hear from them in the future? If Derek thinks that Stiles has any desire to have anything to do with them, he could not be more wrong. Stiles can't wait to be rid of them. 

"I'm heartbroken," he says, putting a hand to his chest. "Truly."

"I'm sure you are," Derek tells him.

Cora’s eyes dart between Stiles and Derek a few times before landing on Stiles. “Are you eighteen yet?” she asks. “Just out of curiosity.”

Stiles blinks, the question catching him slightly off guard. “Yeah,” he says. “For about a month now.”

Derek gives Cora one of those ‘are you fucking kidding me’ looks, and Stiles tries not to feel insulted. She was only teasing.

“I think it’s time for us to get going,” Derek says, breaking the awkward silence.

“Can’t resist the call of that motel bed, huh?” Stiles asks, really just for lack of anything better to say.

“ _No_ ,” Derek snaps. “I just can’t wait to get away from _you_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “ _Rude_.”

“Actually…I could use a change of scenery too,” Cora tells them. “I hate coffee shops. If I have to listen to more Coldplay song I’m going to puke.”

Spoken like a true Hale.

 

Cora has long suspected that her brother misses Beacon Hills, though she can’t even begin to imagine why. Part of her thinks that he’s been waiting for an excuse to return, that he’s been taking all of those construction jobs for a reason. They’re both content in New York, but that seems to matter very little to Derek.

Probably because Derek doesn’t believe he’s capable of happiness. He doesn’t think he deserves peace. But, then again, Derek’s not the brightest wolf in the pack.

So it was really only a matter of time.

 

Stiles gets kidnapped on his way home from the coffee shop.

The assailants only confiscate one of his cellphones. They’re either sloppy and incompetent, or this is just another trap. They might be using him as alpha bait, hoping he’ll call Scott, hoping they’ll be able to catch Scott off guard.

Which is why he calls Derek.

He’s almost too shocked to speak when Derek actually picks up.

“Hello?” Derek says, somehow managing to sound gruff and tentative at the same time. He must not recognize the number. Would he have answered if he’d known it was Stiles?

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

“Why’s your number different?” Derek asks, skipping the pleasantries. How very unlike him.

“Oh, this is my backup phone,” Stiles says. “They took my real one away before I woke up.”

“They?”

“The people who abducted me,” Stiles explains. “I was ambushed at a stop light. I don’t remember passing out but it must have happened when they were dragging me out of my car.”

“Is this a joke?” Derek asks. “Because if it is…”

“No,” Stiles says, almost immeadiately. “It’s— _well_ , actually…” he lets his voice trail off. “I guess that would depend on what you consider funny.” He blinks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh, so either you’ve got a messed up sense of humor or none at all.”

Derek huffs impatiently. “I’m three seconds from hanging up on you.”

“Oh, _come_ _on._ ” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a sourwolf! You’re not the one handcuffed to a radiator.”

“A radiator,” Derek repeats dully, as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“I know, original, right? It’s like they’re not even trying.”

Derek sighs again then asks, “Is there a reason you called me?”

“Yeah, actually.” Suddenly Stiles is feeling a little shy. “Do you think maybe you could come get me? I’m pretty sure I’m in the basement of the Post Office.”

“You want me to rescue you?” Derek asks, and there’s a goddamn mocking lilt to his tone, the fucker.

“I want you to help me escape,” Stiles says, correcting him. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m bait. There’s a difference.”

“Which is what exactly?”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “I’m not expecting you to show up and sweep me off of my feet, and when this is all over you won’t be expecting me to put out.”

It occurs to him, suddenly, for the first time, that Derek might actually refuse to help him. He might actually say no.

“So just to be clear,” Derek says. “There’s nothing in it for me. You’re asking for my help but offering no incentive in return.”

“I’m not negotiating sexual favors with you,” Stiles say evenly. “I don’t have anything you want.”

“I know.”

Stiles sighs, frustrated, and asks, “Then are you coming or not? I’m cold and it smells funny here and I’ve got a terrible headache and if I’m not home for dinner my dad is going to assume I’m dead. That kind of stress isn’t good for his heart.”

“Might as well,” Derek exhales loudly. “Your friends would be unbearable if I left you to rot in there.”

“I’m _so_ sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t mention it,” Derek deadpans. It’s his most pathetic attempt at having a sense of humor to date.

“You’re really coming though, right?” Stiles asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah,” Derek tells him. “There’s six minutes left in the quarter. I’ll leave when the game’s over.”

Evidently his safety and wellbeing has been eclipsed by college basketball. As if Stiles wasn’t feeling crappy enough. Though, in all seriousness, he’s feeling more and more miserable by the second, and not just because his feelings are a little hurt.

“Can you… can you maybe bring me some painkillers?” Stiles asks. “For my head?”

“Are you…” Derek falters for a moment, and then recovers. “You’re okay, right? It’s been a few hours since we left the coffee shop.”

Stiles makes a surprised noise. “Has it? I guess I was unconscious for longer than I thought.” This is so fucking surreal.

“On second thought,” Derek says. “Why don’t I just leave now…?”

“It’s your call…” Stiles tries to sound disinterested but his desperation must bleed through because the muffled sound of the television on Derek’s end is suddenly gone.

“How hard did they hit you?”

“I don’t remember,” Stiles tells him. “Though probably no harder than usual.”

“Getting hit on the head is a regular occurrence for you?” Derek asks, maybe a tiny bit concerned.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes. “I should start wearing a helmet when I go out. This happens way too often, and it can’t be healthy.”

“Probably not.”

“Should I be worried about permanent brain damage, you think?”

“What’s the point in worrying?” Derek asks, as if he really doesn’t know.

“If I worry I won’t be caught off guard,” Stiles explains. “I can at least have a contingency plan.” The concept is probably very foreign to Derek. He never has a Plan A, much less a Plan B.

“And in this case what would a contingency plan entail?” he asks.

Stiles blinks. “Marrying a wealthy old widow?”

“Good luck with that.”

“Are you in the car?” Stiles can hear the rumble of the engine. “You shouldn’t be on the phone while driving. It’s against the law.”

“Do you want me to hang up?” Derek asks, disturbingly sincere.

“No,” Stiles answers without thinking. “Keep talking. It’s creepy down here.”

“At least you’re not being tortured.”

“Oh, so you’re an optimist now?”

“Shut up,” Derek says, but he doesn’t mean it. Stiles can tell.

“Magnus played Gin Rummy with me,” he says. Magnus was outrageously dreamy for a dude with a stupid name and a tail. Stiles would have been all over that if it hadn’t been for that tail. What a waste…

“You mean the Huldrekarl with the crush?” Derek asks, and Stiles is surprised he even remembers. “He didn’t want to play strip poker?”

“Magnus wouldn’t have taken advantage of me like that,” Stiles tells him. “He was very respectful.”

“ _Respectful?_ ” Derek echoes.“You were his prisoner, Stiles! Don’t applaud him for not taking advantage of you. If he had any decency, if he actually gave a shit, he would have let you leave. Are your standards really that low?”

Jesus. One minute he’s teasing Stiles and the next he’s giving him a lecture. Why does Derek have to be so moody?

Stiles opens his mouth to reply but is suddenly overcome by a wave a nausea. It hits him hard, like a punch in the gut. So, instead of speaking, Stiles leans over and vomits on the floor.

“Uh oh,” he says after wiping his face with his sleeve. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” Derek asks.

“I threw up,” Stiles says, still feeling woozy. “You couldn’t tell?” It’s a very distinct sound.

“Wasn’t really paying attention.”

Stiles takes a shaky breath. “You’re a bad listener, you know that?”

“I know that I don’t care.”

“Not even a little?”

“You meant the post office on Willow Street, right?” Derek asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles replies. “The one between the two banks.

God, he really hopes Derek shows up soon. He thought vomiting would relieve some of the pressure in his head, but if anything it’s only made it worse.

“Alright,” Derek says. “Keep talking to me. I’m almost there.”

“Is Cora with you?” Stiles finds himself hoping that she’s not.

“No. She went to go see Isaac.”

“Oh.” Is it strange that he wants Derek all to himself? Stiles must really be sick if he’s willing to admit that.

“Am I going to need help?” Derek asks. “Do you know who took you?”

“Hunters,” Stiles tells him. “A bunch of weirdoes from Oregon. They call themselves ‘The Knights of Beaverton.’” The name is so ridiculous that nobody in the pack thought to take them seriously as a threat. Stiles had written off their leader as just another weirdo with a King Arthur fetish.

“And they’re targeting the pack because…?”

“It’s a long story.” Stiles bites his lip, hoping the pain will distract him from the next wave of nausea. “They think we’re in league with the pixies.”

“Wonderful,” Derek sighs. Derek sighs a lot. It’s kind of his thing. “Nice turning signal, jackass!” he shouts, though obviously this is not directed at Stiles. “Why is it that nobody in this _fucking_ town can _fucking_ drive?”

Stiles wants to comment on Derek’s road rage but he’s pretty sure he’ll throw up again if he opens his mouth. His head is killing him. It feels like he was stabbed with something sharp and jagged behind his eye. What the hell did they do to him?

“Hey Derek?” Stiles says after his stomach has calmed down and he no longer feels bile rising in his throat.

“What?” Derek snaps, still distracted. “It’s a green light! Why are you slowing down? Who the hell slows down for a green light?”

“Just making sure you didn’t hang up,” Stiles says lamely.

“Why does your voice sound weird?” Derek asks, a little softer now.

Stiles feels something wet leaking from his nostrils, and a moment later tastes it on his lips, bitter and metallic. It’s blood. It’s a lot of blood. Maybe that’s why he’s so nauseated.

“I have a nose bleed,” he tells Derek.

“How bad?”

“Um…” Stiles wipes his nose on his sleeve, trying to clear his nostrils, but the blood keeps dripping. “When you get here…you should probably take me straight to the ER.”

“No shit,” Derek says. “You know not to tilt your head back, right? You’re supposed to do the pinching thing instead.”

“I used to spend all of my free time at the hospital when my mom was sick,” Stiles says. “I know how to treat a nosebleed.”

“Oh.” Derek says, and Stiles immediately regrets bringing it up.

Eager to change the subject, he asks, “Remember that time you were hiding out in my room and there was blood on your shirt and I told Danny it was because you had horrible nose bleeds?”

“I remember you objectifying me,” Derek grumbles. 

“You stretched out one of my favorite shirts,” Stiles says, his voice wavering. He feels a little bit like crying but doesn’t.

“Not my fault you used to be scrawny.”

“You know…” Stiles sighs and clutches his stomach. “I think this is one of the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“I’m trying to keep you from passing out,” Derek tells him. “You sound like shit.”

“Do I?” Stiles asks. “Huh,” he says, before bowling over and throwing up again, this time all over his pants and shoes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek hisses. “You threw up again, didn’t you?”

“ _Relax_ ,” Stiles says. “It’s just more blood. I’ll be fine.” Fine, being a relative term, of course, but he is feeling slightly less awful. The room is spinning and the floor is sinking, but Stiles finds that he really doesn’t care. “I’m definitely not going to pass out.”

“You better not,” Derek says darkly. “Because if you do I’ll kill you. No more throwing up either. I swear to god I’ll leave you for dead.”

“I think I’m okay now,” Stiles says. The stabbing pain has been replaced by numbness. “I think my nose has stopped bleeding and—oh, wait a minute…” he touches he face and feels that his cheeks are wet. Is he crying? Stiles looks down at his finger tips and laughs. “ _Whoa_ , dude, I think I’m bleeding from my eye now! What do you think that means?”

“I’m a minute and a half away,” Derek tells him. “If you die before I get there I’m going to kill you.”

No he won’t. Derek likes to maim, not kill. He’s a maimer. Oh god, Stiles’s eyelids are so heavy. He has the heaviest eyelids in the world. They should give him an award. Is maimer even a word? Aren’t Derek’s pants unusually tight for a straight guy? Did he catch Stiles _not_ checking him out as they were leaving the coffee shop. Coffee sure does smell a lot better than it tastes.

“Why are the lights flickering?” Stiles asks. He’s growing increasingly sleepy and confused. It’s kind of nice, actually. It almost feels good.

“Stiles!” Derek shouts on the other end of the phone. “ _Stiles!”_

And then everything goes dark.

 

“I studied architecture at City College.”

_Derek?_

“Stiles applied early admission to Stanford, but I know he’s interested in Columbia too.”

_Dad?_

“They’ve got a great library.”

Stiles lets the awkward silence lull him back to sleep.

 

When Stiles finally opens his eyes, Scott McCall is the first person he sees. Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely pleased.

“You’d better not be eating my Jello,” he says groggily. Oh, god his mouth tastes _terrible._

Scott smiles and hands him a cup of water. “I’ll get you another one. In case you haven’t noticed, my mom pretty much runs this place.”

Small sips. Stiles knows he’s supposed to take it slow, but he can’t help it. He’s so damn thirsty. He greedily gulps down every last drop. Small sips are for pussies.

“What happened?” he asks, handing the empty cup back to Scott. “Cerebral contusion?”

“Nah,” Scott says. “Nothing like that. Those Knight freaks injected you with a sedative and you had an epically bad reaction.”

“So no brain damage?” Stiles asks hopefully.

Scott smiles again. “No brain damage.”

Stile sighs. “How long was I out for?”

“My mom said Derek brought you in last night around eight or nine.”

“Oh.” Obviously the guy didn’t make good on his promise to kill him.

“Yeah.” Scott gives him a strange look. “You called him?”

Stiles shrugs. “It was obviously a trap. I figured they wanted me to call you and I didn’t feel like giving them what they wanted.”

“Oh,” Scott says, nodding because he’s always approved of Stiles’s defiant streak. “Good thinking. I didn’t even know he was back.”

“He and Cora are just here for the box. They’re not staying.”

“Is that what he told you?” Scott asks. “Because I can’t get a read on him, and he still doesn’t trust me.”

“All I know is that he doesn’t trust the postal service,” Stiles says. “Which I can appreciate, especially after last night.”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, tossing the now empty Jello cup into the trashcan next to the door. “I think Derek’s just weird.”

“Did he…” Stiles shifts in bed. “Were he and my dad discussing college? Or was that just a dream…”

Scott shakes his head and laughs. “It wasn’t a dream. I think he tried to leave after he literally handed you over to the ER nurses, but my mom wouldn’t let him. She made him stick around until your dad got here, and then your dad gave him the third degree.”

“Oh.” Stiles frowns. If the sheriff has a problem with Derek Hale it’s probably because they kept accusing him of murder. “I’d feel bad but it’s not really our fault he looks like serial killer, right?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Scott says. “Your dad wasn’t too hard on him. He did kind of save your life.”

“He helped me escape. He didn’t save me. There’s a difference.” One that werewolves seem to be incapable of understanding.

“I should probably go get your dad, actually,” Scott says, rising from his seat. “I promised I’d let him know when you woke up.”

Stiles feels a little sick at the thought of facing his dad. “He didn’t freak out too badly, did he?”

“No.” Scott purses his lips. “Listen, Stiles, there was a woman waiting with him earlier. Does your dad have a girlfriend?”

No. No. No. No. NO. Not going there.

His discomfort must show because Scott makes a dismissive gesture and says, “Never mind, actually. She was probably just a hospital volunteer.” He turns around and starts towards the door. “I’ll go get him now.”

“Wait,” Stiles calls. Scott stops walking and looks over his shoulder expectantly. “Is, uh, Derek still around?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t think he’s left town yet,” Scott replies. “Me and Isaac might meet up with him later.”

Stiles watches him go, then stares down at the hospital blanket covering his lap. Werewolf bonding, ugh. Even if Stiles were well he doubts he’d be invited. Hopefully Scott knows better then to bring the twins along. Derek’s not one to forgive and forget, and they did help murder Boyd.

Whatever. It’s not like they’ll be doing anything fun. Stiles won’t be missing out on much. He doesn’t regret passing up on the bite. He’s glad he’s human.

And when he looks up and sees his father smiling at him in the doorway he remembers why.

 

After the sheriff leaves, surprisingly enough, _Cora_ is the next visitor to occupy his bedside chair.

“You should have told me that Lydia was still dating that mutant alpha,” she says. “I thought the two of you would be together by now.”

Obviously the word ‘tact’ is not in the Hale family dictionary.

“Is this a roundabout way of asking for my relationship status?”

“I know you’re single,” Cora says. “Isaac told me. He said you’d date anything with a pulse; boys, girls… _werewolves_.”

“Hot is hot,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I’d like to think of myself as an equal opportunist.”

“The word Isaac used was ‘desperate.’”

He _would_.

“Yeah?” Stiles says. “Well, did he happen to tell you that his most recent conquest had a tail?”

Cora shakes her head. “Don’t give him my number. I don’t trust him not to snap chat me pictures of his dick.”

“Good call.”

“Here,” Cora says, reaching into her backpack. “These are for you.” She hands him a box of graham crackers. “Derek bought them. I don’t know why, but he said you’d understand.”

Stiles really wishes that the gesture didn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it does. He feels hella warm and fuzzy inside. He has to bite his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Where is he?” Stiles asks.

“Out with Scott and Isaac doing werewolf stuff. Scott said something about going to a club tonight.”

“Right,” Stiles says, deflating like a sad, sad balloon.

They’re going clubbing without him? They’re doing something cool? They’re actually having fun? That stings a little bit but there’s no reason for him to feel jealous. There’s no reason for him to feel left out.

Cora makes a disgusted noise and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” Stiles asks.

“You know,” Cora cracks her knuckles, “the mopey one that makes me want to punch you in the face.”

“I’m not moping!” Stiles protests, but Cora’s not convinced.

“You’re actually his favorite,” she says.

Stiles blinks in surprise. “Who, Derek?”

Cora nods. “He’s got a major soft spot for Isaac, but I know he likes you best.”

 Stiles doesn’t believe her. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Cora says simply.

“How do you know?”

“He told you about the box,” Cora says, like it should already be obvious. “It means on some level he must trust you.”

“ _Me_?” Stiles gapes at her then laughs. “Derek Hale trusts _me?_ ”

“When I asked him about it he told me a really stupid story about lacrosse, and at first I thought he was just making fun of Scott’s obsession with Allison.”

“Low hanging fruit.” Because really.

“So I’ve heard,” Cora says, flashing him a sardonic smile. “But then Derek said something about you and your dad…”

Stiles frowns. “What about me and my dad?”

“You missed an important game and let him down because you were helping Derek find the alpha.” Cora shrugs. “It was selfless, apparently, so good job.”

But that was like a million years ago! If Derek really does like Stiles best he has a funny way of showing it. He’s never been particularly nice to Stiles, and he’s never properly thanked Stiles for saving his stupid werewolf ass.

 “That wasn’t selfless,” Stiles protests. “I just don’t have terrible judgment like the rest of you mooks.”

“Says the boy hooked up to the banana-bag…”

At least he’s not spewing black goo everywhere. Fucking werewolves…

“How long are you guys planning on staying?” Stiles asks Cora.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “Our tickets were one-way.”

Stiles nods. “But you’re not _staying_ , staying, right?” Because despite all of these fascinating developments, that’s the last thing he’d ever want.

Cora laughs. She has a mean laugh. “I’d sooner kill myself,” she says. “ _Derek’s_ the one who gave his two week’s notice.”

 

Stiles S.  (11:51) YOU BOUGHT ME GRAHAM CRACKERS

Derek H. (11:52) YES.

Stiles S.  (11:53) THESE ARE HONEY GRAHAM CRACKERS

Derek H. (11:53) SO?

Stiles S.  (11:55) MAGNUS GOT ME CINNAMON.

Derek H. (12:01) SO?

Stiles S.  (12:01) CINNAMON IS BETTER.

Derek H. (12:04) IF YOU DON’T LIKE THEM DON’T EAT THEM. I DON’T CARE.

Stiles S.  (12:04) RUDE.

Derek H. (12:05) UNGRATEFUL.

Stiles S.  (12:08) SO WHERE DID YOU AND SCOTT AND ISAAC END UP TONIGHT?

Derek H. (12:09) WE’RE AT LACUNA.

Stiles S.  (12:11) SCOTT&ISAAC DON’T MIND THAT YOU’RE BEING ANTI SOCIAL?

Derek H. (12:11) ?

Stiles S.  (12:12) YOU’RE AT *LACUNA* BUT YOU’RE TEXTING.

Stiles S.  (12:20) ARE YOU LURKING IN THE SHADOWS?

Stiles S.  (12:22) YOU TOTALLY ARE AREN’T YOU?

Stiles S.  (12:25) YOU SHOULD GO DANCE!

Stiles S.  (12:27) ARE YOU DANCING?

Stiles S.  (12:30) DID YOU MEET A NICE GIRL?

Stiles S.  (12:32) OR A NICE BOY?

Stiles S.  (12:40) HOW’S THE MUSIC?

Derek H. (12:41) SUCKS.

Stiles S.  (12:41) AND THE DRINKS?

Derek H. (12:42) OVERPRICED.

Stiles S.  (12:43) SCOTT STILL BOUGHT ONE THOUGH, RIGHT?

Derek H. (12:43) YES.

Stiles S.  (12:44) EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS HE CAN’T GET DRUNK.

Derek H. (12:45) YES.

Stiles S.  (12:45) AND IT WAS SOMETHING WITH AN UMBRELLA?

Derek H. (12:46) YES.

Stiles S.  (12:50) YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN ME WITH YOU.

Derek H. (1:03) WHY?

Stiles S.  (1:05) SO I COULD REGALE YOU WITH SARCASTIC SOCIAL COMMENTARY.

Derek H. (1:08) MAYBE NEXT TIME.

Stiles S.  (1:08) REALLY?

Derek H. (1:12) NO.

Stiles S.  (1:13) WHATEVER. YOU’RE PROBABLY THE WORLD’S WORST WINGMAN.

Stiles S.  (1:13) SCOTT&ISAAC HAVE SCHOOL IN THE MORNING FYI.

Derek H. (1:14) I’M NOT THEIR MOTHER.

Derek H. (1:14) OR THEIR ALPHA.

Stiles S.  (1:15) IF YOU LEAVE I’M SURE THEY’LL FOLLOW.

Derek H. (1:16) SCOTT DROVE. OTHERWISE I’D BE LONG GONE.

Stiles S.  (1:17) BOO.

Derek H. (1:20) I’M TEMPTED TO JUST WALK.

Stiles S.  (1:21) IT’S RAINING.

Derek H. (1:21) NO SHIT.

Stiles S.  (1:22) I COULD COME PICK YOU UP.

Derek H. (1:29) YOU’RE IN THE HOSPITAL.

Stiles S.  (1:30) I WAS DISCHARGED A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO.

Derek H. (1:40) NO.

Stiles S.  (1:41) SERIOUSLY. IT WOULDN’T BE A PROBLEM.

Derek H. (1:42) NO.

Stiles S.  (1:43) I OWE YOU FOR YESTERDAY.

Derek H. (1:43) NO.

Derek H. (1:44) GO TO SLEEP.

Stiles S.  (1:45) NOW WHO’S UNGRATEFUL?

Stiles S.  (1:45) YOU ACTUALLY LIKE BEING MISERABLE, DON’T YOU?

Derek H. (1:47) IF I NEED A RIDE I’LL CALL CORA.

Derek H. (1:48) GO TO SLEEP.

Stiles S.  (1:48) FINE.

Stiles S.  (2:10) I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GOT ME THE WRONG KIND OF CRACKERS.

Derek H. (2:12) GOODNIGHT STILES.

 

 

Derek doesn’t look particularly surprised to see Stiles on his doorstep the next morning.

“Shouldn’t you be in school right now?” He asks, frowning.

Stiles stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs. “I was kidnapped over the weekend. It’s an excused absence.”

“Okay…” Derek crosses his arms and leans his giant, muscular shoulder against the doorframe. “What do you want?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Stiles asks expectantly, though he really should know better by now. Derek’s manners have always been atrocious, plus the dude’s an asshole.

“No,” Derek replies, his expression is stony at best.

“Why not?” Stiles refuses to take no for an answer. He could be watching _The Maury Show_ right now.

“I was just leaving,” Derek tells him.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asks.

“Out,” Derek replies shortly.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

To reiterate, that answer is unacceptable.

“Sounds good” Stiles says, flashing Derek his most winning smile. “I’ll drive.”

Derek sighs, wearily too, because he’s a pussy. “Either go to school or go home. You’re not coming with me.”

Wanna bet? The nice thing about Derek being so dumb is that he’s easy to manipulate. Embarrassingly easy to manipulate.

“Looks like rain,” Stiles says. “You weren’t planning on walking to wherever you’re going, were you?”

“No.” Derek furrows his brow. “Why would I be?”

Stiles looks over his shoulder and then back at Derek. “It’s just that I don’t see your car anywhere.”

Derek growls and lets out a string of expletives. “ _Cora._ ” 

Apparently little sister forgot to tell big brother she was hijacking his wheels. Derek would’ve probably spent an hour looking for his keys before thinking to check if the car were gone too.

“It looks like you’ll just have to wait until she gets back,” Stiles says. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about walking or want to ride with me…”

The look on Derek’s face tells him he’s already won. Derek’s never been very good at waiting, and he’d apparently rather endure Stiles’s company than walk. That’s progress too, right?

And, for once, Stiles actually _wants_ Derek Hale in his car. He’s genuinely stoked to show off his fancy new radio. Watching Derek Hale struggle to use modern technology is always a treat. It’s not even a ‘raised by wolves’ thing because Peter and Cora seem to manage just fine. Derek’s just a caveman.

So Derek follows Stiles out to the parking lot and reclaims his rightful seat on the passenger side of Stiles’s Jeep. It’s just like old times.

Sort of.

 

“So,” Stiles breathes, “how was werewolf bonding night with Scott and Isaac?”

“You know how it was,” Derek tells him. “We’ve talked about this already.”

Stiles nods because for once Derek has a point. “You should have let me pick you up. It’s not like I was busy.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Stiles says. “But, you know, you helped me with my escape, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

“Stiles,” Derek starts, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone. “You need to cut it out with this ‘help me escape’ crap. When I found you, you were unconscious and covered in blood, _covered_ in it. Your brain was bleeding and you were in shock because those freaks decided to give you _mamba venom_ instead of a sedative. Who does that? And I have no idea how I’m going to explain those stains to the people at the car rental company.”

Stiles is a little taken aback but recovers quickly. “Feel good getting all that off your chest, big guy?”

“Just shut up and keep your eyes on the road.”

“You’re awfully grumpy today,” Stiles comments after a minute or two of silence. “Do werewolves get jetlag?”

“Turn here,” Derek says, pointing at the intersection up ahead, and blatantly ignoring Stiles’s question.

“Where are we going?”

“My house.”

Oh this should be good. What could possibly go wrong?

 

Stiles can feel Derek beside him, shaking with rage. If this keeps up Derek is going to wolf out and Stiles will become an accessory to murder. Grisly murder.

So he grabs Derek’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“They got what they deserved, if you ask me,” one of the hunters says. “They were breeding. Like animals.”

“Disgusting,” another hunter says.

Stiles turns and looks up at Derek’s face in time to catch his eyes flashing electric blue. That’s rarely a good sign. Derek has every right to be angry but attacking these hunters would be opening up a whole new can of worms. Stiles doesn’t want to spend his last year in Beacon Hills fighting another war. He can’t do that to his father. The stress might kill him.

Acting on instinct, Stiles pulls Derek closer until they’re practically nose-to-nose. Maybe they can talk. Stiles can distract him with nonsensical babbling. Stiles is good at that. But Derek seems determined not to cooperate. Stiles doesn’t know what he finds more alarming, Derek backing him up against the wall, or feeling sharp claws piercing through the fabric of his shirt where Derek’s free hand now rests on his hip. Claws are a bad sign.

“Relax,” Stiles whispers. “Keep it together, man.”

“I’m trying,” Derek tells him.

“Well try harder,” Stiles says, because he can _feel_ Derek growling. “We don’t want them to find us, remember? Confronting them is just asking for trouble.”

“I don’t care,” Derek says lowly, and the rumble of his voice does not make Stiles weak at the knees. “They’re trespassing. I’d be within my rights to do something about it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles tells him. “The law isn’t what you should be worried about. These bozos hunt in packs too, and they’ve been itching for a reason to go after Scott. Let’s not make it easy for them…”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, growling again, crowding Stiles, pinning him to the wall. “I don’t care about Scott’s problems either.”

“ _You_ shut up,” Stiles bites back. This is not turning him on. Having Derek Hale pressed against him, warm and solid, smelling like soap and grass and leather does not turn him on. Feeling Derek Hale’s breath on his face and hot hands on his skin definitely does not turn Stiles on.

“Are you… scared?” Derek asks, sounding marginally less angry and just a little bit confused.

“No.” Stiles swallows audibly. “I’m not scared. Why would I be scared?”

“Your heart…” Derek starts, brow furrowed.

“Hiding is suspenseful.” It’s lame excuse but Derek doesn’t question it.

“Calm down,” he says, untangling their fingers and bringing his newly freed hand to Stile’s throat. Stiles does not find any part of this arousing. Not at all. Not even when Derek adjusts his grip, fitting the palm of his hand to the slope of Stile’s neck. Not even when he presses a thumb to Stile’s hammering pulse.

“What are you doing?” Stile’s breath hitches. “Derek?”

“Measuring your heart rate.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’ve already established that it’s fast.”

Derek shifts and suddenly his lips are hovering above Stile’s ear. “Just relax, Stiles,” he murmurs, and it’s not sexy. It’s really not sexy.

“I am relaxed,” Stiles lies, his tone rising an octave in pitch. “I am perfectly relaxed. You’re the one who’s being weird.”

“Shhh…”

“Don’t shush me!”

“Then stop talking,” Derek says. His nose is in Stile’s hair and when he shifts the cold tip brushes against Stile’s temple, making him shudder. “Shhh…”

Oh god. Stiles closes his eyes and breathes a shaky sigh. “I can’t hear them. Are they still here?”

Derek nods, his jaw meeting Stile’s cheek. “They’re upstairs.”

Oh god. Oh god. The scrape of Derek’s stubble is definitely not unexpectedly and inexplicably erotic. Stiles did not just feel his stomach drop.

Or maybe he did. Maybe Stiles is frantically thinking unsexy thoughts. Maybe he’s imagining moldy cheese and cat vomit and six hour after school detention with Mr. Harris’s decaying corpse.

“Why are they doing this?” he asks, desperate for a distraction.

“I don’t know,” Derek replies, his breath hot and wet in Stile’s ear. “Did their voices sound familiar?”

“N-no.”

“Then why are you freaking out?”

 “Seriously,” Stiles says when he feels Derek’s hand moving on his hip to where his shirt has ridden up. Suddenly there’s skin on skin, and he realizes that the claws are gone. “You need to stop that.” Because maybe he is half hard already and doesn’t think he could live with the humiliation of a full on erection.

“Stop what? Derek asks, innocently stroking Stiles’s hipbone with the pad of his thumb. It’s probably supposed to be soothing gesture but it’s really not.

“You know what,” he says, wishing his voice were steadier. “You know what you’re doing and you know what it’s doing to me.”

“I really don’t,” Derek says, now with both hands on Stiles’s hips.

Stiles opens his eyes and sees the carefully blank expression on Derek’s face. “I hate you.”

“Good,” Derek says, sounding as if he means it too, which in addition to being a boner-killer, makes Stiles feel like shit.

“How much longer…?” he asks, because for the sake of his sanity he needs out of this damn closet and he needs it fast.

“Not long. Stop fidgeting.”

“This is a nightmare,” Stiles mutters to himself. “An honest to god nightmare.”

“I think they’re leaving,” Derek says, backing away from Stiles all nonchalant and oblivious, acting like what happened did not just happen.

The bastard.

It’s possible that he didn’t know what he was doing or what it was doing to Stiles. The dude is pretty stupid, and maybe Stiles is a little sensitive. Maybe he imagined the sexual tension. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles breathes. Either way his heart is still in his throat.

“They’re gone,” Derek says finally after a long, tense silence.

“Thank god,” Stiles says and his entire body goes slack. “Thank _god_.” He has to fight to stay standing. This is ridiculous. This is fucking ridiculous. Derek fucking Hale.

Derek fucking Hale swings the door open, turns around, and raises his massive eyebrows at Stiles. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shakes his head no. “Sure.”

And then Derek walks out the door. Derek swaggers out the door because when you make jeans look that good you don’t just walk. How the hell did this become Stile’s life?

 

 

Scott still considers Stiles to be his best friend, and that will never change, regardless of his relationship with Isaac. Stiles liked Scott back when Scott was just a loser with asthma. He liked Scott back when Scott didn’t even like himself.

But things are different now.

Scott is an alpha. He has a pack to look after. He has responsibilities. Stiles is his best friend but he’s not a werewolf.

And that matters.

He trusts that Stiles will understand.

 

 

Stiles nearly loses his shit when he walks into his bedroom and finds Derek fucking Hale lounging in his bed reading comic books. He’s reading Spiderman comic books.

“Dude,” Stiles says, dropping his backpack. “How the hell did you even get in here? There’s a lock on my window now.”

“I can pick locks.” Derek looks up from the comic book at Stiles. “Can’t you?”

No, but now he _really_ wants to learn. Maybe he could convince Derek to teach him? Derek probably knows how to hotwire cars too. Derek is so cool.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, trying not to let his nervousness show.

“Cora said you needed to talk to me.” Derek frowns. “She said it was important.”

“She did?” The traitor! “I’m beginning to think our moment was a lie.”

Derek lets out a sound that might have been a laugh. “What moment?” he asks. “How did you have a moment with her if she was unconscious? Do I even want to know?”

“I didn’t do anything weird if that’s what you’re implying,” Stiles says, maybe a bit defensively.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Whatever,” Stiles says sitting down at his desk and turning his chair to face the unwelcomed intruder. “Do you remember leaving Cora with me in the back of the ambulance?”

“Yes.” Derek puts the comic book down and sits up. “I remember.”

“After you ran off with batshit Jennifer Blake, I…” Stiles lets his voice trail off. This is the first time he’s ever shared this story and he doesn’t really know how to do it. “Cora wasn’t breathing,” he says finally. “I had to give her mouth-to-mouth.”

Derek stares at him. “You never told me that.”

Stiles shrugs. “There was a lot of other stuff going on at the time. That bitch had us all running around like chickens with our heads cut off. You especially.”

“I didn’t _want_ to leave with Jennifer,” Derek tells him.

“You didn’t really have a choice though, did you?” Stiles says, because he thinks it’s what Derek needs to hear. “And you knew I’d do everything I could to keep Cora safe.”

“But that wasn’t your job, it was mine.”

“I don’t really understand pack dynamics,” Stiles says, and it’s probably because he secretly suspects most of it is bullshit. “But it didn’t really feel to me like we were two separate groups. Sometimes it felt like Cora was one of us, and sometimes it felt like you were my alpha too.”

“We had a common enemy,” Derek says, as if it really were that simple.

“You know…” Stiles starts, “there’s something about all this _Darach_ crap that I’ve never been able to understand.”

“Okay…?” Derek asks expectantly.

“Ms. Blake gave everyone who had the power to stop her a reason to want her dead. She gave us all a vested interest in her failure. What made her think poisoning Cora was a good idea? You would have been more inclined to help her if she hadn’t tried to kill your sister. Kidnapping Scott’s mom pushed him to join forces with Deucalion. Why would you want two of your most powerful adversaries joining forces? And that shit she pulled with Lydia? What, did she think we wouldn’t notice?”

Derek sighs. “Stiles, she was crazy. When we were stuck in the elevator she kept talking about her face. She would not shut up about her face. She was going around kidnapping parents and sacrificing virgins and she thought I cared about her face.”

“Well, you guys were… together though, weren’t you?” Stiles asks awkwardly.

Derek averts his eyes gives a disinterested shrug. “I guess.”

“So, I bet she was feeling extra self conscious or something.”

“Maybe.”

“She probably thought you were really shallow,” Stiles continues, “and worried that seeing her true face would make you regret sleeping with her.”

Derek looks up sharply at this statement.

“Who told you I slept with her?” he asks.

“Uh, no one,” Stiles replies, scratching the back of his head. “But we all just kind of figured…”

“Right.”

“Were we wrong?” Stiles asks, masking his hopefulness with intrigue.

“That,” Derek says, glaring, “is none of your business.” Which means they were right. Derek totally slept with her.

“If it’s any consolation…” Stiles starts, “I don’t think you’re shallow.”

“Nobody cares what you think, Stiles,” Derek says. It’s obvious that he’s trying to be mean but he mostly just sounds tired.

“Did you—I mean, _do_ you have someone in New York?” Stiles asks, knowingly pushing his luck. “Like a girlfriend maybe?”

“Not really,” Derek tells him.

“Cora said…” Stiles wets his lips. “Cora said that you quit your job.”

“Might have,” Derek replies, and he’s starting to look closed off again.

Stiles wants him gone. Stiles tells himself that he wants Derek gone.

“My dad’s going to be home soon,” Stiles says. “So you should probably get going. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

 “You’re right,” Derek says, putting the comic books back on Stiles’s nightstand and climbing off the bed. “I do have plans.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles tries not to sound too interested. “Mini golf with Scott and Isaac? Another werewolf bonding night?”

Derek shakes his head. “Driving Cora to the airport.”

“So you _are_ staying? In Beacon Hills?”

“For a little while,” Derek says, and this is the opposite of what Stiles wanted.

“I guess I’ll see you around then…” But actually… no. Please, god, no. Just no. Stiles has to tell himself no.

“Probably not.” Derek turns his back on him. “Hopefully not.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says in a faint voice, now watching Derek open the window and prepare to climb out. “So I guess it would be pointless for me to tell you to next time use the front door?”

Derek gives him a funny look from over his shoulder and then shakes his head.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” he says, and in the blink of an eye he’s gone.

Stiles stares at the window for a long time before getting up to to close it.

 

 

Two weeks later Stiles shows up at the old Hale house with a bag of takeout food and a six pack of beer.

“I have a fake ID,” he says, in response to Derek’s raised brow.

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” Derek says.

“What then?”

“Why are you here?”

“To hang…” Stiles tells him. “I brought dinner,” he says, holding up the bag.

“Stiles…” Derek sighs.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Stiles asks expectantly. Derek can’t say no to food, right? Scott and Isaac never do.

“I…” Derek blinks. “I don’t have a table…”

“That’s fine.” Stiles smiles. “I’m cool with eating on the floor.”

 

“I can’t in good conscious feed this crap to my father,” Stiles says, dumping the rest of his fries onto Derek’s plate. “But I had a craving and I don’t like eating alone.”

“Scott’s with Isaac?” Derek guesses.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. And is he really that transparent? “They’re training together.”

“But why come all the way out here?” Derek asks, sounding suspicious, of all things. “Don’t you have other friends besides Scott to annoy?”

God, Derek is such a dick. Stiles shouldn’t have to put up with this shit. He’s done nothing to deserve it. If Derek wants to pretend he doesn’t like having someone bringing him food and treating him like a human being, then fine, whatever, but there’s no excuse for rudeness.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Stiles says.

“Do what?”

“You don’t have to act like me being here is such a huge inconvenience for you. I get that I make you uncomfortable, but don’t you think it’s about time you got over that?”

Derek fixes Stiles with a level stare, then nods, once, slowly. “Okay.”

For a moment Stiles is speechless. He didn’t expect Derek to take him seriously and he certainly didn’t expect him to agree. This was supposed to be a terrible idea. A failure. Indisputable proof that there is no pleasure to be had in Derek Hales company. Neither of them should be enjoying this.

“Cora left for good?” Stiles asks.

“She has work and school,” Derek replies. “I didn’t want her falling behind in class.”

“But you’re staying, right?” Stiles asks. “To work on the house?” It looks like he’s already started tearing down rotted wood. He’s probably got a knack for demolition work. He’s a destructive guy.

“I’ve applied for building permits,” Derek tells him. “And a surveyor’s coming out on Tuesday.”

“Are you planning on doing it all yourself?” Because that sounds like a disaster in the making. “Not going to hire any professionals?”

Derek’s not exactly what Stiles would call _competent_. If he runs into problems building the house he might just call it quits and leave Beacon Hills again. Maybe this time for good. That would be for the best. That’s what Stiles should hope for.

“I know what I’m doing,” Derek says, shooting him a glare. “I’ll have someone else pour the foundation, but the rest I can do myself. Laura and I did Habitat for Humanity Summer of 2009, and I’ve taken some classes and worked a few construction jobs since then.”

“Classes?” Stiles asks. “Like, as in, _college_ classes?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies. “In New York. I was studying architecture.”

“Right.” Stiles knew that already, though he doesn’t remember Derek ever telling him.

“You still thinking about Columbia?”

“I…” Stiles swallows nervously. His dad’s the only one who knows. Will Scott be upset if he finds out he wasn’t the first person Stiles told?

“You what?”

“I…” Stiles falters again, but the look Derek’s giving him pulls the words out of his mouth. “I got into Stanford,” he breathes. “The letter came yesterday.”

Derek’s expression softens. “Congrats," he says. "Can’t say I’m too surprised.”

“I thought for sure they’d reject me,” Stiles admits. “I almost didn’t apply.”

“Bet you’re glad now that you did.”

Stiles nods. “They’re giving me a scholarship too, which is kind of a miracle because we’re not exactly rolling in dough and I wasn’t looking forward to taking out student loans.”

“I’m sure you deserve it,” Derek says, and Stiles can’t detect even a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugs. “It’s probably because I’m a legacy. It’s my mom’s alma mater.”

“Stanford is only an hour or so away, right? You dad must be happy about that.”

“Yeah…” Stiles murmurs absently, wondering if that’s really true.

“It’s getting kind of late,” Derek says. They both seem to realize at the same time how the room’s darkened.

“I’m not ready to leave.” Stiles’s not sure whether or not he meant to say that aloud. He takes the awkward silence as a sign that he indeed made a mistake.

“There are lanterns on the porch,” Derek says finally. “We can go sit outside.”

Stiles watches Derek stand and stretch. He’s not just being civil; he’s being _nice_. The guy must really be lonely.

“Okay,” Stiles says, rising to his feet.

“What time is your dad expecting you back?” Derek asks over his shoulder as he leads Stiles out the door.

“He’s not,” Stiles replies. “He’s working the night shift.”

“He leaves you home alone?” Derek asks, sounding a little surprised.

“No,” Stiles says, giving Derek a withering look. “He hires a babysitter.” Stiles can’t help but laugh at the look of genuine confusion on Derek’s stupid face. “Of course he leaves me alone!” Stiles shouts. “I’m eighteen!”

“You don’t act eighteen,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles nods because he’s right. For a while now Stiles acts much older than his age. He and Derek are sitting, side by side, on the top porch step. Stiles feels like he’s the only one who did any growing. Derek looks exactly the same.

“You talked to him at the hospital,” Stiles says, suddenly remembering.

“Who?” Derek asks.

“My dad.” Stiles turns and smiles at Derek. “I think he likes you.”

“He was surprised that I helped you.”

“Really? Why?”

“He remembers you framing me for my sister’s murder,” Derek says.

“Oh.” Stiles coughs. “Right. Sorry about that.” This is probably the first time he’s ever apologized for his part in those… misunderstandings.

“She would have hated you.”

“Laura?” Stiles remembers next to nothing about Laura Hale.

“Yeah.” Derek smiles faintly. It’s not as hideous as his real smile, but Stiles still wants it to stop. “Laura would have told me to stay away from you.”

“Sweet.” Only it’s not, not at all. If anything it’s bitter. “I guess that makes me Hale repellent. Do I smell bad?”

“Not really…”

“What do I smell like?” Stiles asks curiously. If he doesn’t smell bad does that mean he smells good?

Derek shrugs. “You smell like… Stiles. You just smell like you.”

“You’re a poet, Derek,” Stiles teases. “Truly.”

“Shut up,” Derek says, elbowing Stiles in the ribs, just hard enough to make him wince, but not hard enough to leave a bruise.

“It’s a nice night,” Stiles says eventually.

“Yeah…” Derek breathes.

“Is Scott going to be your alpha now?”

“No,” Derek says plainly. “I already have an alpha.”

Stiles wants details but knows better than to ask. If Derek wants him to know about what he and Cora get up to outside Beacon Hills he’ll tell him. 

“Scott…he …” Stiles sighs. “He doesn’t feel like an alpha to me.”

“And I did?” Derek asks incredulously.

Stiles shakes his head. “Not so much towards the end.”

“It’s different for humans.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “So everyone keeps telling me,” he says. “God, Scott and Isaac are so obnoxious about it. I want to smack them.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Derek says, and there’s amusement in his eyes. “You should probably let me do it.”

“Really?” Stiles asks. “You’d hit Scott for me?”

Derek smirks. “What do you think?”

Stiles has no fucking clue what Derek’s smirk means, but that’s probably the point. Derek is the worst.

“You know,” Stiles says. “Scott might be a ‘true alpha,’ but he’s not a natural leader. Deaton’s been holding his hand this entire time.”

“He’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Derek says. “Give him a few years. Scott’s strong but he’s young and inexperienced. He just needs time.”

It sounds like Derek actually has faith in him. Maybe Scott would calm the hell down if he heard encouraging words from someone like Derek. It would probably mean a lot to him.

“If you’re not part of the pack… does that mean you’re not going to keep joining them on their special werewolf outings?” Stiles is trying to keep his tone casual but he’s not having much luck. “Aiden and Ethan usually tag along too, just to warn you.”

“I don’t think I have the patience to deal with a pack of teenagers,” Derek says. “Not again. Not anymore.”

“I don’t get invited most of the time,” Stiles says, feeling a little bitter—okay, _a lot_ bitter. “Scott thinks it’s too risky, and my Dad’s not a huge fan. He and Chris Argent have become like bff.”

“I’m supposed to meet with the Argents later this week,” Derek says. “It was Allison’s idea apparently.” He gives Stiles an unreadable look. “You told her we ran into hunters?”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles admits readily. “They’re kind of experts when it comes to the hunting community and they’ve been really helpful. Chris is one of the good guys.”

“We’ll see…” Derek says, sounding doubtful as fuck.

“I could…” oh god stop talking, Stiles. “I could go with you if you want.” Stiles can’t believe he just said that.

“Didn’t you just tell me that he’s good friends with your dad now?” Derek asks meaningfully.

Oh. _Oh._

“Point taken,” Stiles says. “You’ll be better off without me.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I know.”

Whatever that means.

 

 

Stiles S. (4:45) WHERE ARE YOU?

Scott M. (4:47) ?

Stiles S. (4:47) CALCULUS TEST TOMORROW?

Stiles S. (4:48) STUDYING AT THE LIBRARY?

Stiles S. (4:48) RINGING ANY BELLS?

Scott M. (4:49) SHIT.

Scott M. (4:49) DUDE.

Scott M. (4:49) SRY.

Stiles S. (4:50) I TOTALLY FORGOT.

Stiles S. (4:52) SO I TAKE IT YOU’RE ON YOUR WAY?

Scott M. (4:55) ACTUALLY.

Scott M. (4:58) I DON’T THINK I CAN MAKE IT.

Scott M. (4:58) SRY.

Stiles S. (4:59) ?????????????????

Scott M. (5:03) I’M KIND OF IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING.

Scott M. (5:06) I’LL CALL YOU LATER.

Stiles S. (5:07) J!&*U$^K#!DFG#$%#$^EKWUO.

 

 

So dinner with Derek becomes a weekly event. After the sheriff leaves for his Thursday night poker game at the Argent’s, Stiles picks up take-out food and heads over to the old Hale house.

Derek never looks particularly pleased to see him but he doesn’t look _not_ -pleased either, no more so than usual at least. If Derek didn’t want Stiles hanging around he’d broadcast that sentiment loud and clear. Stiles has yet to receive the ‘get the hell out’ glare so he’s going to assume his presence is welcomed. Their conversations are mostly one-sided, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Derek doesn’t enjoy his company. It’s kind of nice that Derek just lets Stiles sit there and talk to him.

But Stiles knows when it’s time to shut up. He knows he’s said too much when Derek begins to stare at his mouth and gives him these dark, smoldering looks. Stiles isn’t intimidated by the glares, though sometimes he wishes he were. Then maybe he wouldn’t find them so stupidly sexy. The last thing Stiles needs is to get hung up on Derek Hale.

“Does Scott know you’re here?” Derek asks, about a month into their tentative friendship.

“Maybe?” Stiles says with a shrug. If Scott knows it’s not because Stiles told him. There are some things he’d rather just keep to himself, and dinner with Derek is one of them.

“I ran into him this afternoon at the hardware store,” Derek says.

“Oh.” Stiles scratches his head. “Don’t you talk to him regularly?”

“I talk to Isaac.”

“You might as well be talking to Scott then. Anything you tell Isaac will get back to him.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Stiles frowns. Would Derek kick Stiles out if he thought Scott had a problem with them spending time together?

“Why do you care if Scott knows I come over here?” he asks.

“I don’t,” Derek replies.

“Then why’d you ask?” Stiles presses.

Derek shrugs. “I expected Scott to bring it up, and when he didn’t I wanted to know why.”

“Yeah,” Stiles shifts uncomfortably. “I haven’t told him.”

“Okay,” Derek says calmly, as if it really were that simple, as if he really doesn’t care.

“Scott doesn’t worry about me,” Stiles says. “It’s been over a month since I was last kidnapped.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I know it’s not a bad thing,” Stiles tells him. “But it could mean something bad…”

“Like what?” Derek asks, staring at Stiles like Stiles is a crazy person talking the crazy talk.

“It could mean that outsiders don’t see me as important to the pack. I don’t matter enough to be considered potential bait.”

“You’re seriously upset because you haven’t been abducted recently?” Of course it’s going to sound ridiculous when you put it like that. He should have known Derek wouldn’t understand.

“Never mind,” Stiles says quickly. “It’s… forget it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek tells him flatly. “And if you need a kidnapping to validate your worth then you’re crazy too.”

“Derek—” 

“Do you remember how you felt when your dad was missing?" Derek asks, ignoring Stiles's attempts to cut in. "That’s what it’s like for him every time you’re taken. Not putting him through that should make you feel the opposite of insecure. I don’t know whether you get off on it or whether it just makes you feel special—whatever it is, it’s fucked up and you need to cut this shit out. It’s bad enough that you act like this is all a big joke.”

Fuck you too, Derek. Fuck you and your judgmental tone. Fuck you for bringing the sheriff into this. Fuck you for not even trying to understand.

“Well, would you rather I have a panic attack?” Stiles snaps. “Because I can either laugh about my problems or stop breathing.”

“You get panic attacks? Since when do you get _panic attacks_?”

“I don’t,” Stiles lies, his face flushing red with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t get _panic attacks_.” Except he does, he does get panic attacks, but he can’t admit that to Derek, not even when he knows Derek will see through the lie. This is the first time Stiles has ever felt like his anxiety is something he should be ashamed of.

“Stiles—” Derek tries, but Stiles isn’t finished.

“I know that there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he says. “If you don’t feel horrible for putting my dad through everything I’ve put him through, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

“Whatever, Stiles,” Derek says crossing his arms. He’s completely closed off now. “I don’t care about you or your dad. Neither of you are my problem.”

“Right.” Stiles feels his stomach turn to lead. That’s weeks of progress down the drain. What the hell was he thinking, confiding in Derek Hale? He should have known better than to get involved with this emotionally stunted asswipe. The only time Derek ever feels the need to be supportive is when someone is dying. If Stiles isn’t in mortal peril he shouldn’t expect jack shit from him.

“Emotionally stunted asswipe?” Derek echoes. “Really?

_Fuck_. Exactly how much of that did Stiles say out loud? He couldn’t have said all of it. He’d remember saying all of it. Right?

“I think I should go now,” Stiles says, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying not to let his inner turmoil show.

“I won’t keep you against your will,” Derek tells him. “I'm sorry if that's what you came here for, but I’m not going to be your huldrekarl captor.”

Stiles really hopes he doesn’t look as stricken as he feels. “I came here because we're friends.”

Derek's lip curls. "We're not friends, Stiles."

"We are, actually," Stiles tells him. "You're just not a very good one."

And when he leaves Derek makes no move to stop him. Go fucking figure.

 

Stiles S.  (5:37) KNOCK KNOCK

Derek H. (5:38) NO.

Stiles S.  (5:39) C’MON IT’S FUNNY I PROMISE.

Derek H. (5:39) NO.

Stiles S.  (5:40) REALLY IT’S HILARIOUS.

Derek H. (5:41) NO.

Stiles S.  (5:42) DON’T BE SUCH A SOUR WOLF.

Derek H. (5:42) NO.

Stiles S.  (5:50) DISTRACT ME.

Stiles S.  (5:51) PLEASE.

Derek H. (5:53) WHY?

Stiles S.  (5:55) WE’RE HAVING DINNER AT LIZ’S HOUSE WITH LIZ’S FAMILY.

Derek H. (5:56) WHO IS LIZ?

Stiles S.  (5:56) MY DAD’S GIRLFRIEND.

Stiles S.  (5:58) SHE’S THE WORST.

Derek H. (5:58) ?

Stiles S.  (5:59) SHE NEVER STOPS SMILING AND SHE WEARS TOO MUCH PERFUME.

Stiles S.  (6:00) AND HER PERFECT KIDS ARE PERFECTLY BEHAVED

Stiles S.  (6:00) THEY’RE PROBABLY SOULLESS DEMON SPAWN.

Stiles S.  (6:01) UGH THEY KEEP TOUCHING EACH OTHER.

Derek H. (6:03) GROW UP, STILES.

Stiles S.  (6:09) SHE KEEPS TRYING TO TALK TO ME.

Stiles S.  (6:10) SHE JUST CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

Stiles S.  (6:16) SHE JUST REMINDED ME TO EAT MY VEGETABLES.

Stiles S:  (6:20) SHE’S TRYING TO BE MOTHERLY.

Stiles S.  (6:21) SHE THINKS I NEED A MOTHER.

Derek H. (6:22) STOP.

Stiles S.  (6:22) I ALREADY HAVE A MOTHER.

Derek H. (6:23) YOU’RE RIDICULOUS.

Stiles S.  (6:44) DISTRACT ME. PLEASE. I’M GOING INSANE.

Derek H. (6:45) WHERE ARE YOU?

Stiles S.  (6:45) ?

Derek H. (6:46) IF YOU CAN MAKE AN EXCUSE TO LEAVE I’LL COME GET YOU.

Stiles S.  (6:46) REALLY?

Derek H. (6:47) GIVE ME THE ADDRESS.

Stiles S.  (6:48) 331 PEAR TREE COURT.

Derek H. (6:50) BE OUTSIDE IN TEN MINUTES.

Stiles S.  (6:51) I TAKE BACK ALL THOSE HORRIBLE THINGS I SAID ABOUT YOU.

Derek H. (7:04) WHERE ARE YOU?

Stiles S.  (7:05) CHANGE OF PLAN.

Derek H. (7:05) NO.

Stiles S.  (7:05) I NEED YOU TO LIE FOR ME.

Derek H. (7:06) NO.

Stiles S.  (7:06) DEREK.

Derek H. (7:06) NO.

Stiles S.  (7:07) DEREK PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE.

Derek H. (7:10) WHAT DO YOU NEED ME TO SAY?

Stiles S.  (7:12) YOU GOT TICKETS TO SEE A LIMITED RELEASE FILM AT THE INDEPENDENT ARTS THEATER AND I PROMISED I’D GO WITH YOU.

 

“I forgot that you could do that,” Stiles grumbles as he and Derek walk down the driveway.

“Do what?” Derek asks.

As if he doesn’t already know!

“Be so charming,” Stiles says, giving him the side eye. “Especially with women. I was kind of hoping you’d freak her out.”

But that sure as hell didn’t happen. She was fawning over him. _Fawning_. And Stiles’s dad seemed okay with it. If the sheriff felt at all threatened by sexy Derek in his sexy leather jacket with his sexy bedhead (because he had been _napping_ when he got Stiles’s first message) he didn’t let his concern show. Not even when the freaky kids told Derek they liked his beard.

“Why?”

“Having dangerous friends means I could be a bad influence,” Stiles explains. “It’d give her a reason to leave me alone. Maybe she’ll stop trying to include me in everything.”

“Or you could just start acting your age,” Derek says, deciding to show his sensitive side, it would seem. “Stop acting so spoiled and petulant, and just grow the fuck up.”

“Hey!” Stiles cries. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Well I’m not,” Derek says bluntly. “This is none of my business and I’m not getting involved.”

That’s what he said the last time they were together. Derek keeps insisting that he doesn’t care about Stiles’s problems. He pretends that Stiles’s happiness means nothing to him. He’ll deny enjoying Stiles’s company. He’ll probably deny that they’re even friends.

And yet here they are.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks, a few minutes later when they’re on the road.

Derek raises both eyebrows and gives Stiles a funny look. “The movies.” He says it like it should already be obvious.

“I thought that was just our cover story,” Stiles says.

“I thought you hated having to lie to your father,” Derek counters.

“I do.”

“Then let’s not make it a lie.”

 

“How was the movie?” is the first thing the sheriff asks Stiles the next morning at breakfast.

“Pretty bad,” Stiles admits with a shrug. “It was in Polish.”

“Were you…” the sheriff falters. “Were you on a date?”

“A _date_?” Stiles echoes in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Stiles gapes. “With Derek Hale?”

“Yes, Stiles.” The sheriff sighs the way he does when Stiles is being particularly difficult. “Were you on a date with Derek Hale?”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking! In what reality would Derek Hale want to date me?  He barely acknowledges that we’re friends.”

“Friends, huh?” The sheriff looks dubious, at best.

“What?” Stiles raises his eyebrows. “We’re not allowed to be friends?”

“I just think he’s a little old for you…”

“A little old to be my friend?” Stiles asks expectantly. “Because that’s all we are, Dad. Friends. It wasn’t a date.”

Except it kind of felt like a date.

Just a little bit though. Derek paid for their tickets and they shared a tub of popcorn. Stiles is pretty sure that at one point Derek actually had his arm resting on the back of Stiles’s chair. He was just stretching, of course, but still. It didn’t feel like going to the movies with Scott. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but the night felt kind of… special.

“Stiles, you’re eighteen. I’m not going to forbid you from seeing him.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We saw the way he was looking at you,” the sheriff says meaningfully. “You don’t need to lie.”

“We? This was Liz’s idea wasn’t it?” The look on the sheriff’s face is all the confirmation Stiles needs. “Oh my _god_ …” Stiles growls. “Why can’t she just mind her own business?”

The sheriff sighs wearily. “Just promise me you’ll be safe?”

“I’d rather pretend you didn’t just say that.” Because that sounded an awful lot like his father giving him permission to do the sex with Derek Hale.

“I’m serious, Stiles. Hale is a good kid but he’s troubled. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, and I don’t want to see anything jeopardize that.”

“You mean Stanford?” Stiles asks. “Dad, Derek wants me out of Beacon Hills almost as much as you do. He’s even more annoying about it.”

“Okay.” The sheriff nods and stares down at his whole-wheat toast. “I’m ready to stop talking about this if you are.”

“I was ready ten minutes ago,” Stiles tells him. “Back when I was still considering whether or not to give you _real_ butter. Obviously that is no longer open to debate.”

“Aw, hell, Stiles…”

                                                                                                       

 

Stiles S.  (8:30) SCOTT OFFICIALLY KNOWS ABOUT ISAAC AND ALLISON.

Derek H. (8:43) HE’LL GET OVER IT.

Stiles S.  (8:45) BUT WILL THEIR BROMANCE SURVIVE?

Derek H. (8:50) I DON’T KNOW, NOR DO I CARE.

Derek H. (9:21) COME OVER TOMORROW AFTER SCHOOL.

Stiles. S.  (9:22) OKAY.

Stiles S.  (9:24) WHY?

Derek H. (9:25) YOU’RE GOING TO HELP ME HANG DRYWALL.

Stiles S.  (2:45) I’M STOPPING FOR A SMOOTHIE.

Stiles S.  (2:52) YOU WANT ONE?

Derek H. (3:00) NO.

Stiles S.  (3:01) TOO LATE.

Stiles S.  (3:02) HOPE YOU LIKE STRAWBERRY BANANA.

Stiles S.  (3:02) SEE YOU IN 10.

 

 

“Dude!” Scott says, jumping out at Stiles the moment he steps into his bedroom. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting hours.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” Stiles asks, frowning. “You never told me you were planning on coming over.”

Back in the day, back before they hung out with other people, such notifications were unnecessary. The McCall house was like a second home to Stiles, as was the Stilinski house for Scott. But now that Scott has Isaac and Allison, and Stiles has Derek… things have changed.

“Yeah, well, I sorta…” Scott clears his throat, “broke my phone…”

“How?” Stiles asks.

Scott smiles sheepishly. “Throwing it at Isaac’s face.”

“Ah.” Stiles grimaces. Scott and Allison have been together for week and Scott has yet to reconcile with either of them.

“I missed,” Scott tells him.

“On purpose?” Stiles guesses. Scott has near perfect aim, thanks to the bite. It’s unlike him to miss a target.

“Yeah,” Scott breathes, looking miserable. “I still feel like an ass.”

Stiles leans in, giving him a one-armed hug and a consoling pat on the back. “I’m sure he understands.”

Scott pulls away and makes a face at him. “You smell like Derek,” he says. “Were you with Derek?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I was at his place all afternoon.” Might as well be honest.

“Doing what?” Scott asks, sounding more curious than suspicious.

“Helping with the renovations,” Stiles replies. “We wired the kitchen today, which was an adventure.”

“An adventure?” Scott repeats.

 Stiles nods. “We probably should have gotten a professional to do it. I almost died. Twice.”

“He’s actually letting you help?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“When Isaac and I offered to pitch in he flat-out rejected us.” Scott gives Stiles an unreadable look. “How often are you over there?”

Stiles shrugs. “Not very often.” He’s not ready to admit that he spends almost all of his free time playing _Bob the Builder_ with Derek Hale.

“Really?” Scott asks.

“Does it matter?” Stiles is trying to keep his tone even but the words still end up sounding like a challenge.

“No,” Scott says.” No, dude, of course not. You’re allowed to hang out with whoever you want, as often as you want. I was just curious.”

“Right,” Stiles says, not quite believing him.

“I’m serious,” Scotts says. “I think it’s great, actually. If you’re with Derek at least you’ll be safe. I bet that’s why it’s been so long since you were last kidnapped.”

“Maybe.” Oh, god, that better not be why Derek keeps him around. Stiles was kind of hoping that Derek actually _enjoyed_ his company. Is that really too much to ask?

 

 

Stiles. S (1:10) HEARD FROM CREEPY UNCLE PETER RECENTLY?

Derek H. (1:13) YES, UNFORTUNATELY.

Derek H. (1:14) HAS HE BEEN BOTHERING YOU?

Stiles S. (1:14) NOT REALLY.

Stiles S. (1:14) I RAN INTO HIM A FEW MONTHS AGO AT DRAEGERS

Derek H. (1:15) ?

Stiles S. (1:15) THE GOURMET GROCERY STORE

Derek H. (1:15) ?

Stiles S. (1:16) LOOKING FOR NEW WAYS TO GET MY DAD TO EAT VEGETABLES.

Derek H. (1:16) DON’T YOU HAVE CLASS?

Stiles S. (1:17) I’M IN MATH NOW

Derek H. (1:17) …

Stiles S. (1:17) WE HAVE A SUB SO WE’RE WATCHING A MOVIE

Stiles S. (1:18) THIS DOCUMENTARY ABOUT PAPER BAG MAKING MACHINES.

Derek H. (1:18) MRS. WASSER?

Stiles S. (1:18) !!

Derek H. (1:19) THAT CRONE ISN’T DEAD YET?

Stiles S. (1:19) DUDE, WE’RE NOT THAT FAR APART IN AGE.

Stiles S. (1:20) THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I’VE SEEN THIS FILM.

Stiles S. (1:20) I FEEL LIKE I’M BEING PUNISHED.

Stiles S. (1:21) WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?

Derek H. (1:21) NO.

Stiles S. (1:21) NO WHAT?

Derek H. (1:22) NO YOU CANNOT COME OVER.

Stiles S. (1:22) BUT I’M BORED.

Derek H. (1:22) NO.

Stiles S. (1:22) YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE TO COME GET ME I CAN DRIVE MYSELF.

Derek H. (1:23) NO.

Stiles S. (1:23) I’LL HELP WITH THE MOLDING.

Derek H. (1:23) NO.

Stiles S. (1:24) I’LL PAINT.

Derek H. (1:24) NO.

Stiles S. (1:24) I’LL GIVE YOU A BACK RUB.

Derek H. (1:25) NO. STILES YOU HAVE TO STOP.

Derek H. (1:25) IF YOUR DAD FINDS OUT YOU SKIPPED CLASS TO COME HERE

Derek H. (1:26) HE WON’T APPROVE OF YOU COMING HERE AT ALL.

Derek H. (1:26) HE MADE THAT VERY CLEAR.

Stiles S. (1:26) YOU TALKED TO HIM AGAIN?

Stiles S. (1:26) ?

Stiles S. (1:27) ??????????????????????

Stiles S. (1:27) WHEN?

Stiles S. (1:28) ????????

Stiles S. (1:28) DEREK?!!!!!!!

Stiles S. (1:28) ???????????????

Derek H. (1:30) I’M TURNING MY PHONE OFF NOW.

Derek H. (1:30) SO IF YOU GET KIDNAPPED CALL SOMEONE ELSE.

Stiles S. (1:31) I HATE YOU

Derek H. (1:31) GOOD.

 

 

When Stiles pulls up to the old Hale house Derek is waiting for him. Sweaty, shirtless Derek Hale with those sharp cheekbones and low-riding jeans is waiting for him.

Stiles may or may not be in way, _way_ over his head.

But it’s a crush. It’s just a silly crush, and it doesn’t mean anything. The attraction is purely physical, and since Derek is actually really weird looking, sooner or later it’s going to fade. It has to.

“You’re late,” Derek says.

“No I’m not.” Stiles slams the car door shut behind him. “I didn’t even tell you I was coming.”

“So?” Derek asks, brow raised.

“So how’d you know I’d be here?”

“Does it matter?” Derek turns around and starts towards the house. “C’mon, we’re tiling the upstairs bathroom today.”

“Seriously.” Stiles has to run to catch up with him. “How’d you know?”

Derek huffs a sigh. “Stiles…”

No fucking way. Those _assholes_!

“Un- _fucking_ -believable!” Stiles shouts. He knows he shouldn’t be angry, but he is. He’s _fuming_. “They invited you, didn’t they? Scott invited you.”

Derek shrugs likes it’s no big deal. “Only because he knew I wouldn’t accept.”

“He invited Isaac, the dude who stole his girlfriend, but not me.” Stiles throws his hands up in resignation. “What the hell?”

“Are you telling me that you _want_ to go camping with a bunch of werewolves on the night of the full moon?” Derek asks

Stiles crosses his arms and defensively holds them to his chest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you know that any one of them could easily kill you,” Derek says. “And you know if you tried running with them you’d just get left behind.”

“It still would have been nice to get invited,” Stiles grumbles.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Derek Hale, bastion of sympathy strikes again.

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.” Lies.

Derek gives him a look. “You know it’s not because they don’t like you or they don’t want you around.”

“Is this a pep talk?” Stiles blinks. “Are you trying to be _nice_ to me?” Because it’s starting to sound a lot like Derek’s trying to make him feel better.

“Shut up.”

“You planning on putting a shirt on any time soon?” Stiles asks, trying hard, trying very, very hard not to stare.

“Why?” Derek raises his brow. “Does my naked torso offend you?”

‘Offend’ isn’t really the word Stiles would use, but he’s not about to let Derek know the truth.

“I’m developing an inferiority complex,” he says instead.

Derek smirks. “Developing?”

And this is how Stiles knows he’ll never have to worry about Derek picking up on his little crush. Derek doesn’t see him that way, and since he’s not particularly astute to begin with, he’ll never put it together. 

He lets Stiles help when it’s clear he’d really rather not. Stiles isn’t even that bad; Derek’s just a control freak. He doesn’t trust Stiles not to screw up. He’s always checking his progress and spends an inordinate amount of time watching Stiles’s hands, waiting for him to make a mistake.

Truthfully, Stiles kind of likes the way Derek… _observes_ him. He likes being the center of Derek’s attention. Is that wrong?

“Go to hell.” Stiles gives him a playful shove, hitting him in the chest, and inadvertently touching his bare skin. “Eww.” Stiles whines, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You’re all sweaty and gross.”

“I was working out before you got here,” Derek informs him. Now there’s a nice mental image. Though, what kind of weirdo exercises in jeans?

“Scott wants me to join that new gym with him so we can work out with the twins,” Stiles says.

“Isaac mentioned something about that too. You didn’t agree, did you?”

Stiles scoffs. “Like I have the money for that kind of thing.”

“Good,” Derek says, pleased apparently.

“Good?” Stiles’s brow furrows. “Why is that good?”

“You’d hurt yourself trying to keep up with them.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, crossing his arms. “I realize I don’t have super werewolf strength or stamina but I’m pretty sure I’m smarter then the four of them combined. I know my own limitations.”

Derek huffs a sighs. “You say that now but…”

“But what?” Stiles challenges.

“Just because you know what your limits are doesn’t mean you’re not going to try surpassing them.”

“Not everyone has the same self-destructive tendencies that you do.” Most people don’t strive for failure. Derek’s made an art form out of incompetence. Stiles isn’t like that.

“It’d be a waste of time too,” Derek adds.

“Oh really?” Keep digging, Derek. By all means…

“It’s like you said,” Derek tells him. “You’re not stupid. You’re smart. You have nothing to compensate for. No matter how hard you try you’ll never be as strong as them, and no matter how hard they try they’ll never be as smart as you are.”

Oh.

“So, you’re telling me I shouldn’t even bother?” Stiles asks, oddly hopeful.

“I’m telling you that you don’t need to change. You’re perfectly fine the way you are so you should focus your energy on more important things.” He claps Stiles on the shoulder and gives a squeeze. “Things like helping me tile the upstairs bathroom.”

_Perfectly fine the way you are._ This stupid crush…this stupid baseless attraction… maybe it is something more. Maybe there’s some substance to it after all.

“I have to go,” Stiles says suddenly.

“What?” Derek frowns, and Stiles wriggles out of his grasp. “Why?”

Because this can’t happen. Feelings can’t happen. Stiles can’t have real feelings for Derek Hale. Not the warm and fuzzy kind. Not in this lifetime.

“I’ll explain later.” Later when he’s up to lying. “There’s something I need to do.”

“If you don’t want to help just say so,” Derek tells him. “I won’t get angry.” He does sound a little put out, which makes Stiles feel even weirder.

“It’s not that, it’s…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says flatly. “Sure.”

As Stiles leaves he can feel Derek watching him and has to make a conscious effort not to look back.

 

 

“Is there a pizza place that will deliver out here?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek answers. “Why? You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Derek glances at his watch. “It’s not even four.”

“I skipped lunch,” Stiles admits. He spent his free period finishing up a lab report and didn’t have time to eat. It’s a good excuse, but he’s has no doubt that Derek’s going to lecture him and call him an idiot regardless.

“Mind driving into town?” Derek says instead, which is a pleasant surprise.

“For pizza?” Stiles laughs. “Dude, I’d _crawl_.”

“Fine.” Derek tosses Stiles his wallet. “Use my AmEx. If you get anything with anchovies I’ll kill you.”

Wait, what?

“You trust me?”

“Not to get anchovies?” Derek asks. “Yeah, I know you don’t like them either.”

“No, I mean…” Stiles holds up the wallet. “You trust me with this?”

Derek gives him an unreadable look. “No pineapple either. Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza.”

“You trust me with your credit cards? And your drivers license? There’s like three different gym membership cards in here. And your car registration.” Not to mention a worn, dog-eared picture of his family.

“I trust you with a lot more than that and you know it,” Derek tells him. “Now are you going to get food or not? I thought you said you were starving.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times before he realizes that he really is speechless. It’s fifty degrees out, but he feels like his insides are melting.

This is getting out of hand.

 

 

Scott S. (11:22) MY DAD GOT ME GTA5!!!!

Stiles S. (11:23) SERIOUSLY?

Stiles S. (11:24) HE’S STILL TRYING TO WIN YOU OVER?

Scott S. (11:24) GUESS SO.

Stiles S. (11:25) DOES HE KNOW WHAT GTA STANDS FOR?

Scott S. (11:25) IDK

Scott S. (11:25) YOU COMING OVER OR WHAT?

Stiles S. (11:27) IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT.

Scott S. (11:28) I’VE GOT REDBULL AND PIZZA BAGELS.

Stiles S. (11:29) BRT.

 

 

Stiles S. (3:05) I CAN’T SLEEP.

Derek H. (3:08) SOUNDS LIKE A PERSONAL PROBLEM.

Stiles S. (3:09) I HAD CAFFEINE AT SCOTT’S HOUSE.

Stiles S. (3:10) I FEEL LIKE MY HEART IS GOING TO EXPLODE.

 

And then the phone rings. Caller ID flashes _Derek Hale_.

“Hello?” Stiles answers uncertainly. Derek’s fingers must have slipped. He wouldn’t intentionally call Stiles.

“What’s wrong with you?” Derek asks. And wow, okay, maybe not a mistake after all. There’s even a hint of concern in his tone.

“I was at Scott’s earlier playing video games,” Stiles explains sheepishly. “And I accidentally drank two cans of Redbull.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“It’s nighttime. I don’t want to wake my dad.”

“Oh.” Derek pauses. “I should probably hang up then.”

“No, no,” Stiles says quickly. “Don’t hang up. He sleeps like a log. It’ll be fine as long as I’m quiet.”

“Alright,” Derek says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Why do you feel like your heart’s going to explode?”

“Because all that Adderall I take keeps me pretty wired, and caffeine pushes me over the edge.”

“You’ve got ADHD? That explains a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Like why you’re incapable of sitting still.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests. “I’ll have you know that I’m sitting still right now!” He shifts and adds, “or I guess I should say that I’m lying down, but I’m not fidgeting so that counts as sitting still.”

“You’re in bed?” Derek asks. His voice is quiet but there’s an edge to his tone.

Stiles swallows dryly and says, “Uh, yeah… that tends to be where sleep happens…”

Amongst other things…

“What…” Derek clears his throat. “What other things?”

“Did I said that out loud?” Stiles asks, only slightly horrified. “Why do I keep doing that?”

“Because even when you manage to stop moving you still can’t control your mouth.”

“You know some people actually appreciate my mouth,” Stiles says. “And my inability to sit still.”

“What people?" Derek asks. "You mean people like your huldekarl friend?"

“Yeah, Magnus was surprisingly cool,” Stiles tells him. “Most of my kidnappers get pissed off at me for all of the flailing and fidgeting. Eventually they end up restraining me." He sighs. "Being tied up is definitely the worst part about captivity. That and the food.”

“You don’t like being tied up?” Derek asks.

“Do you?” Stiles counters, because what the hell kind of question is that?

“No,” Derek says, without a moment’s hesitation. “I hate it.” Which isn’t surprising, what with the whole Kate Argent fiasco.

“What about…” Stiles lets his voice trail off because his brain is screaming at him to stop talking. It’s begging him to shut up. “What if it were the other way around?”

“What do you mean?” Derek asks slowly, like he’s not sure he really wants to know.

“How would you feel about tying someone else up? Like, for fun.”

Derek is silent for a moment. “I guess it’d depend on the person.”

“Right,” Stiles agrees. “But I feel that way about sex in general.” He falters for a second. “We _are_ talking about sex, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something really inappropriate?”

“You can ask me whatever you want,” Derek tells him. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“It’s about sex,” Stiles warns him.

“I kind of figured.”

“Promise not to get mad?”

“No.”

“So, at least two of the people you’ve slept with in your lifetime have been psychotic killers. Is the sex better when the person you’re doing it with is evil?”

“No,” Derek says again. “And even if it were it wouldn’t be worth it.”

An unexpectedly mature response. But psychotic killer sex has to be better than no sex at all, right?

“I’m beginning to think I’ll die a virgin,” Stiles says. 

“You’ve never…” Derek lets his voice trail off. He sounds surprised, of all things.

“I almost… a couple of times, but, you know, things kept getting in the way. I have priorities, unfortunately.” Stiles laughs a little. “Thank god for internet porn.”

The silence that ensues is long, drawn out, and painfully awkward.

Eventually Derek says, “I think it’s time for you to try sleeping again.”

“Okay.” Stiles says, finally feeling tired. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“I know.”

Stiles yawns, which is a very good sign. “See you tomorrow maybe?” he asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” Derek says. “Maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

 

 

Derek H. (2:01) ARE YOU BUSY?

Stiles S.  (2:01) MAYBE.

Derek H. (2:04) YOU’RE AT HOME?

Stiles S.  (2:04) YES.

Derek H. (2:06) I’M COMING TO GET YOU.

Stiles S.  (2:06) OKAY.

Stiles S.  (2:07) WHY?

Derek H. (2:08) SHOPPING.

Stiles S.  (2:08) FOR WHAT?

Derek H. (2:09) WALLPAPER.

Derek H. (2:10) YOU CAN HELP ME PICK OUT SAMPLES FOR THE KITCHEN.

Stiles S.   (2:10) BECAUSE I’M A LITTLE GAY?

Stiles S.  (2:11) THAT DOESN’T GIVE ME INNATE INTERIOR DESIGN SKILLS FYI.

Derek H. (2:15) BE OUTSIDE IN TWENTY MINUTES.

 

 

“You don’t have homework, do you?” Derek asks. He’s looming over where Stiles sits on the stairway landing, applying stain to the banister dowels.

“Just this stupid paper.” Stiles shrugs. I’ll do it later.”

“Is this the same essay you’ve been putting off all week?”

Stiles glances up at him from over his shoulder. “Yeah, probably.”

Derek bends down and snatches the paintbrush out of his hand. “Do it now.”

“Hey!” Stiles cries, jumping to his feet. “What the hell, man? I was using that!”

“I’m not going to enable your procrastination,” Derek says firmly.

“I’m not procrastinating,” Stiles insists. “I just don’t feel like doing it right now.”

Derek stares at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Stiles replies, eyes scanning the room for another paintbrush.

Who the hell does Derek think he is, anyway? Since when he has given even half a shit about Stiles’s homework? This isn’t some big brother/little brother afterschool program. Stiles is an adult and he doesn’t need Derek mothering him. It makes him feel weird about all the explicit sexual fantasies he’s been having about the guy.

Stiles can feel Derek watching him as he stalks over to the supply table and rummages through all of the tools. 

“That’s complete bullshit and you know it,” Derek tells him. “What’s the real reason you’ve been putting it off?”

“There is no ‘real reason.’” Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. “Stop glaring,” he says. “That won’t work on me. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“Even when you’re in control of your heartbeat I can still tell when you’re lying,” Derek says. “So you might as well just be honest with me.”

Fuck it.

“It’s my teacher,” he says finally. “Apparently you have to be a complete degenerate to teach English at our school.” Stiles notices Derek stiffen but decides not to comment.  “This guy _hates_ me. He’s worse than Harris. A million times worse. And he flat out told me he’d never give me an A because he hates the way I write.”

Derek frowns. “What’s wrong with the way you write?”

“Nothing!” Stiles says defensively, then, “Okay, fine. I have a tendency to… veer off topic, and I can be a little heavy handed with the sarcasm.”

“I would have never guessed.”

“We were supposed to read _In Cold Blood_ but our the principal thought it was _inappropriate_ , so they saddled us with _Waiting for Godot.”_

“I remember reading that play. What’s the assignment?”

Is Derek… is Derek offering to… oh god… help him with his homework? That’s… cute.

“Look, dude, I think it’s great that you want to play student-teacher but this is AP English, so… yeah…”

Derek glares at him. “I’m not an idiot, Stiles. I read it in college. What’s the assignment?”

Oh, that’s right! Derek went to college! LOL

“I have to write a two-thousand word analysis on the usage and meaning of repetition throughout the play.”

“That’s easy,” Derek says.

“Oh, really?” Stiles smirks.

“ _Yes, really_.”

“Okay, Mr. Hemmingway,” Stiles says, deciding to humor him. “Show me what you got.”

“Beckett’s trying to show how we delude ourselves into thinking that things are changeable to avoid the harsh truth that life fundamentally repeats itself because time is circular, and space is illusory. So in the play, the repetition of endless cycles of action-in-non-action stop the flow of thought, allowing for objective observation to move the spectator beyond spatio-temporal limits toward a direct experience of pure consciousness. You should also mention that the cyclical self-referral aspect of the text is supposed to be ironic.”

“ _Dude!_ ”

Could Derek be… _smart_? Or maybe just not a complete and total idiot? Stiles did always wonder what he and Jennifer Blake had to talk about when they were alone together. Before he just figured that all they had in common was sex.

“Or you could just write ‘This paper is about nothing’ four-hundred times.” Derek graces him with a tiny smile. “That’s what Laura would do.”

“I thought your degree was in architecture,” Stiles says, still a bit stunned.

Derek raises his eyebrows. “It is.”

“Architecture has nothing to do with literature or existentialism.”

“What’s your point?”

Stiles grins. “Are you secretly a nerd? Tell me you’re a secret nerd!”

“Hardly,” Derek says. “I failed my first college English class. I thought Laura was going to kill me, so I worked my ass off the second time around.”

_That_ Stiles has no trouble believing. Derek _is_ a failwolf, after all.

“My dad would _freak_ if I failed a class.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Derek points to the new table. “Go write the damn paper.”

Stiles laughs and asks, “You’re joking right?” Derek raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I don’t have my laptop with me, and I can’t get any kind of internet service on my phone out here.”

“But you have the book with you?” Derek asks slowly. “Right? And paper and pens? That should be enough.”

Oh god. This is adorable.

“Caveman Derek.” Stiles smirks. “Actual homework helper.”

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, looking a little bit pleased. This is so weird.

“Dude, when are you going to get wifi?”

Derek looks away. “I have electricity…”

“Don’t say it like that!” Stiles shouts. “Don’t say that like it’s acceptable! You can’t just have electricity. This is the twenty-first century.”

“Please.” Derek rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and groans. “We’re not having this conversation again.” He drops his hands. “Wifi is not a human right.”

“God, are you going to have dialup?” Stiles asks. “How do you even watch porn?”

“How do I—” Derek falters and shakes his head. “You know what? No. No more procrastinating. Shut up and do your homework.”

Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “Am I going to find a stack of magazines under your bed?”

Derek points to the table again and gives him a meaningful glare. “ _Go_.”

 

 

Derek H. (6:35) STAY INSIDE TONIGHT.

Stiles S.  (6:37) BECAUSE OF THE FULL MOON?

Derek H. (6:37) YES.

Stiles S.  (6:38) IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL.

Stiles S.  (6:38) EVEN ISAAC’S LEARNED TO CONTROL HIMSELF.

Derek H. (6:40) THERE’S A MIGRATORY PACK IN THE AREA.

Stiles S.  (6:40) REALLY? THOSE EXIST?

Derek H. (6:41) I WARNED SCOTT NOT TO GET INVOLVED WITH THEM.

Stiles S.  (6:41) HE HASN’T SAID ANYTHING TO ME.

Derek H. (6:42) HE SHOULD HAVE.

Derek H. (6:42) YOU NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS.

Derek H. (6:42) IT COULD BE DANGEROUS FOR YOU.

Stiles S.  (6:43) I KEEP TELLING HIM THAT BUT HE DOESN’T LISTEN.

Derek H. (6:44) I’LL TALK TO HIM AGAIN.

Stiles S.  (6:50) SO YOU’RE NOT GOING OUT?

Derek H. (6:52) I’LL PROBABLY GO TO PETER’S APARTMENT.

Derek H. (6:52) MY HOUSE IS TOO EXPOSED RIGHT NOW.

Stiles S.  (6:55) YOU COULD COME HERE.

Stiles S.  (7:05) DEREK?

 

Stiles leaves his window unlocked just in case Derek decides to take him up on the offer, bur he never shows. He does call though. At two a.m. When Stiles is fast asleep.

“Hello?” Stiles answers, groggy and a little disoriented.

“Shit,” Derek breathes. “I woke you up, didn’t I? I shouldn’t—I’ll call you back in the morning.”

“No!” Stiles immediately protests, rubbing his eyes and blinking hard. “No, man, don’t hang up.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, and all of this hesitance and uncertainty and hopefulness is _fucking_ adorable. “It can wait until morning.”

“Are you at Peter’s?” None of Stiles’s efforts to reassure Derek ever work so he might as well ignore the reservations and move on.

Derek sighs. “Not anymore. Peter was being… himself, and I decided I’d rather take my chances with the other pack."

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Stiles asks, a little worried.

“They should know better than to wander onto Hale property.”

Stiles grins. “I didn’t.”

“You’re human,” Derek says, and Stiles’s mind must be playing tricks on him because it sounds like actual _fondness_ in his tone.

“I guess that explains those dumbass hunters,” Stiles says. “And why they all think they can just waltz into your house like they own the place.

“Their trespassing has nothing to do with their humanity.”

“Have they come back?” Stiles asks. His eyelids are starting to feel heavy again so he turns onto his side and snuggles down into his comforter.

“No,” Derek replies. “But if they ever do… they’ll get what’s coming to them. I won’t be hide this time.”

“It’s just as well,” Stiles says, yawning. “I don’t think hiding would have worked if I hadn’t been there to distract you, so unless you’ve got someone to grope—”

“ _Grope_?” Derek cuts in. “I didn’t grope you.”

Seriously? “Dude, you were all over me.”

“No I wasn’t,” Derek says.

“You were!” Stiles starts to sit up. “Your hands were everywhere. Do you really not remember?”

“There’s nothing to remember,” Derek insists. “I didn’t touch you.”

“Why do you think I was so flustered?” Stiles asks. He can’t be fully conscious. If he were truly awake he wouldn’t be saying things that he shouldn’t be saying, admitting things he shouldn’t be admitting, and seeking answers to questions that are better left unasked.

“You told me hiding made you nervous,” Derek says.

“It does,” Stiles concedes. “But do you know what’s even more nerve wracking? Being backed into a corner by an angry werewolf who can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Derek says, getting defensive. “You weren’t in any danger. If I was making you uncomfortable you should have said something.”

He can’t possibly be this oblivious, can he? Shouldn’t he have been able to sense how turned on Stiles was? Derek was born a werewolf. You’d think by now he’d be a little less inept.

“Why did you call me?” Stiles asks. His question is met with silence. “Derek?”

“Your messages,” Derek says eventually. “I didn’t see them until just now.”

“Are you coming over?” He hopes he doesn’t sound too eager, and wonders if Derek can hear how his heart just skipped a beat.

“To do what?” Derek asks. “Sleep?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles wets his lips. “If you want to, sure. But we don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad’s spending the night at that woman’s house.”

“So…you’re alone?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I’m alone.”

“You should have said something,” Derek tells him. “If I’d known you were going to be by yourself I wouldn’t have gone to Peter’s.”

“Really?” Stiles is starting to feel a little bit warm thinking of all the trouble he could get into if he were alone with Derek Hale in his bedroom on the night of a full moon. “You’d have come here instead?”

“Of course,” Derek says, and oh, god. Stiles has been fantasizing about this for _months_.

He knows he shouldn’t. Derek is his friend. Chances are he’d be mortified if he knew. Stiles likes being Derek’s friend, and sure, he’d love if it were something more, but it’s not. That’s why he only allows himself to think about it late at night after a long day when it’s dark, when it’s quiet, when he’s just too goddamn tired to move a muscle.

Maybe some day, some day years from now they’ll laugh about it. Stiles will admit that he used to fall asleep thinking about Derek climbing through his window, crawling into his bed, stripping him, kissing him, touching him, holding him, fucking him into the fucking mattress, making him pant and sweat and beg, pulling his hair, sucking his—

Stiles coughs. “I’m sorry did you just say something?”

“I was telling you how it’s dangerous for you to be alone on a night like this.” And just like that the warmth is gone. Stiles feels colder and emptier and it’s kind of awful.

“So you think I need protecting?” he asks. “Because I can protect myself, you know. I may not be a werewolf but that doesn’t mean I’m helpless. I never asked you to be my guard dog.”

Derek sighs. “I’m not having this argument with you, Stiles. You’re too smart and too reasonable to be this petulant. You attract trouble like it’s your job. Everyone worries about you, not just me.”

It’s probably the nicest thing Derek’s ever said to him, and Stiles doesn’t know how to respond. If he agrees to be the damsel in distress does that mean Derek will have hot, hot sex with him? Because if that’s the case Stiles would be more than happy to let Derek be his knight in shining armor.

“I appreciate the concern,” Stiles says evenly. “But I really can take care of myself.”

“Like I said,” Derek bites back. “I’m not having this argument with you.”

“I’m not arguing,” Stiles insists. “I’m simply telling you that I’ve managed just fine without you in the past.”

Derek snorts. “Just fine, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Because I heard about what happened to you after we left. Isaac told me about your night terrors and hallucinations. I know what you had to do to that vampire and I know what that shaman did to you.”

“That was over a year ago, Derek,” Stiles reminds him.

 “Fine,” Derek says. “You want a more recent example? Two words for you, Stiles: _mamba venom_.”

“And I survived that too.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “ _Barely_ , and only because you had help. You’re just not strong enough to deal with this stuff on your own. I’m allowed to be concerned.”

Oh please.

“Well that’s like the kiss of death, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, his temper flaring. “People you care about tend to die horrible premature deaths so excuse me if I don’t want to be the next casualty on the list!”

Silence.

Then, more silence.

“Okay,” Derek says eventually.

“That’s not…” Oh god. Oh god. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“Stiles—” Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

This is when the panic really sets in, because the hurt in Derek’s tone is fucking tangible. Two year ago Stiles would have been thrilled to land such a low blow. He wouldn’t have felt even an ounce of remorse. But back then Derek was kind of an asshole who only grudgingly cared about Stiles’s wellbeing. Obviously things have changed.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles says. He can fix this. He has to fix this.

“Stiles—” _Fuck!_

“It’s late, and I was asleep when you called, and I guess I’m still a little disoriented—”

“ _Stiles_ …” Derek growls.

“I’m sorry,” he finishes lamely.

Derek sighs. “Lock your damn window, alright?”

And then there’s the dial tone.

 

 

Stiles S.  (8:02) ARE YOU UP?

Derek H. (8:04) NO.

Derek H. (8:06) …?

Stiles S.  (8:07) DO YOU WANT TO GET BREAKFAST WITH ME?

Stiles S.  (8:07) MY TREAT.

Derek H. (8:07) NOW?

Stiles S.  (8:07) I HAD TO RUN STUFF OVER TO MY DAD AT THE STATION.

Stiles S.  (8:08) I’M ON MY WAY BACK.

Stiles S.  (8:08) I COULD PICK YOU UP.

Derek H. (8:11) OKAY.

Stiles S.  (8:11) REALLY?

Derek H. (8:11) YES.

Stiles S.  (8:12) I’LL SEE YOU IN 15 THEN?

Derek H. (8:12) OKAY.

 

 

“So I’ve been meaning to ask… what’s the deal with you and Derek?”

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Because he’s got all these feelings and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them.

“So is this going to be the obligatory ‘Stiles’s friends confront him about his unusually intimate friendship with Derek Hale’ scene?”

Scott hands Stiles an unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon and says, “Drink up.”

So that’s a yes then.

“Did you bring this whiskey just to avoid having to discuss this stuff with me when I’m sober?”

“Yeah.”

“Good call.” Stiles starts to unscrew the cap of the bottle. “You’re going to want to forget this conversation ever happened. I know I will.” He raises the bottle and says, “Cheers!” before taking an ill-advised gulp.

“Yeah,” Scotts offers Stiles a sympathetic smile, and waits for him to finish flailing and sputtering. “I had a feeling this was going to be one of those talks.”

Stiles coughs and it feels terrible, so naturally he brings the bottle back to his lips and drinks some more.

“I think I have a problem.”

“Dude,” Scott laughs. “This isn’t that kind of intervention.”

“I know, I know," Stiles says. "All I’m saying is that I think I’m addicted to Derek Hale.”

Scott makes a face. “And how serious is this addiction would you say?”

Stiles takes another swig before answering. “Somewhere between cocaine and heroin.”

“Oh boy.”

Stiles sighs. “It’s an unrequited, inconsequential crush.” That he’ll eventually overcome. Eventually.

“Like any of us actually believe that,” Lydia says, appearing out of nowhere with Humpty and Dumpty in tow. “The two of you are like something out of Beauty and the Beast.”

Stiles blinks rapidly. “Am I the clock? Or the footstool? Or the candlestick dude?” he gasps. “Am I Gaston?”

“You’re Belle,” Lydia says like it should be obvious. “You’re a nerdy, doe-eyed weirdo who would do just about anything for his father. Derek is the beast.”

“Because he’s kind of hairy?” Scott guesses.

“No,” Lydia says, fixing Scott with a withering stare. “Because he’s a grown man with anger management issues who hasn’t yet figured out how to use his words.”

“But wasn’t the beast kind of an abusive asshole?” Danny asks, also appearing out of nowhere. He must have been hiding in Lydia’s purse.

“In addition to trying to kill _me_ , I know for a fact that he has, on multiple occasions, caused Stiles bodily harm. And so now naïve Stiles the virgin thinks he can tame Derek and make him change his brutish ways.”

“Why would I want to change him?” Stiles asks, genuinely confused. He doesn’t mind being manhandled. Not that Derek manhandles him. Not anymore, at least. He rarely, if ever, touches him.

“The attraction could be artificial," Lydia reasons. "He rescued you from those hunters, and you’ve been socialized to find that sexually attractive, regardless of whether or not you actually like him.”

“That’s not why I like him,” Stiles tells her.

Lydia raises and eyebrow. “Then why do you like him?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Stiles says. “The dude’s still an asshole but… I don’t know."

“I still think it’s for the wrong reasons,” Lydia says, crossing her arms. “You feel indebted to him, sexually.”

If only it were that simple.

“So let me get this straight--” Scott starts.

“Hah!” Stiles laughs because _pun_.

“You want Derek.”

“No,” Stiles says nodding his head in affirmation. “Definitely not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means he’s confused,” Danny offers

Only he’s not.

“We should call Cora,” Stiles says suddenly. “She’s here for the holidays. She’ll know what to do.”

 

“Hey there, pretty lady,” Stiles says when Cora finally picks up.

“Are you drunk on a Monday?” she asks, unimpressed.

“We’re playing the meteor shower drinking game,” Stiles explains. “You take a shot every time you look up at the sky and don’t see anything.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“You should come hang with us.”

“What?” Cora asks, and judging by her tone the invite was unexpected.

“Yeah, come hang out with us at the park.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“Me and Scott and Lydia and Danny and the Lobo Brothers,” Stiles winks at the twins. “We’re stargazing.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Cora says, and she’s probably being sarcastic.

“If you need a ride, Isaac can pick you up on his way over here,” Stiles offers.

“Fine.” She sighs. “Let me ask Derek –

“No!” Stiles says sharply. “Not Derek. Don’t bring Derek. Derek is definitely not invited.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“There’s not enough room,” Stiles says, thinking fast.

“There’s not enough room at the park?” Cora deadpans

“Yeah.” Stiles winces. “That.”

“I should have never left New York.”

  

“I’m not attracted to Derek,” Stiles starts, determined to play it cool. “Because that would just be _ridiculous_. But— _hypothetically_ of course, if I were attracted to your brother… do I have a shot?”

“You’re an idiot,” Cora says flatly.

“Hear me out,” Stiles says. “He’s had such bad experiences with older women, maybe it’s time for him to try a younger man.”

Cora stares at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lydia cuts in. “That would be me.”

“I don’t think so,” Cora tells her. “I have it on pretty good authority that you’re the bitch.”

The sexual tension between the two girls might be a figment of Stiles’s drunk imagination. If he weren’t so hung up on stupid Derek Hale he’d probably be making some horribly inappropriate and embarrassing propositions right now.

“As much as I think we’d all like to see werewolf versus banshee…” Stiles starts, “that’s not about me. We were talking about me. We were talking about the possibility of me getting some.” Stiles takes another swig of alcohol, having just realized he was still holding the bottle in his hand. “Focus, guys! Focus!”

“I think your logic is flawless,” Aiden or Ethan says with an encouraging smile. They’ve both been trying to get on Stile’s good side for months so he’s not sure he trusts them.

“Seriously though.” Stiles grabs the sleeve of Cora’s jacket. “Do I have a chance? Does Derek even like The D?”

“You have his number,” Cora says, shaking him off. “Call him up and ask him yourself.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Scott says, not so surreptitiously swiping Stiles’s phone from his jacket pocket. “Let’s just assume he doesn’t and move on.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles says, dejected.

“He went out for drinks one night last April with a guy he met at the gym,” Cora offers, probably just to be spiteful.

“Don’t encourage him!”

Oh my god.

 

“Heyyyyy, Derrrrrrek,” Stiles slurs into the phone. This is the best idea he’s ever had. Hands down. The very best.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, sounding confused. Stiles can practically hear him frowning.

“Who else would it be?”

Silence, then, “Have you been drinking?”

“I’m not drunk,” Stiles says automatically.

“You’re a liar,” Derek says. “What are you doing with my sister’s phone?”

“I threw up in a bush,” Stiles tells him, because he can’t remember how he got his hands on Cora’s phone. She must of given it to him at some point. What a lovely girl. “It was regular puke this time,” he adds. "No blood."

“You’re not by yourself, are you?” Derek asks.

“Nah, the whole gang is here,” Stiles replies. “Everyone ‘cept for you.”

Derek sighs. “Is there a particular reason why you’re drunk dialing me at 10 pm on a school night?”

“I have a verrrry important question,” Stiles insists. “This isn’t drunk dialing.”

“Really?” Derek asks, dubious as ever.

“Yeah, man,” Stiles says. “I gotta know. Are you sexily attracted to men?”

“ _Sexily_ attracted?” 

“Would you fuck me?” Stiles asks. Because that’s what he really wants to know.

“ _What_?”

“Like if there was another nutzo druid going around sacrificing virgins would you fuck me to save my life?

“Stiles, put Cora on the phone.”

“She’s fighting with Lydia right now.”

“Okay, then give the phone to Scott.”

“Why? You didn’t answer my question.” Stiles feels his stomach sink. “That means no, doesn’t it? You’d fuck the evil druid instead, wouldn’t you? How bad do I have to be for you to want me?”

“Stop talking, Stiles," Derek says. "Please. Just stop talking and give my sister back her phone.”

“Or is it because I’m a virgin?” Stiles bites his lip. “If I go to The Jungle I can probably find someone else to help me cash in my v-card. Or there’s this blond girl in my math class. She gave me a blow job at a pool party over the summer. I’m sure if I asked nicely she’d let me put it in.”

“You’ve got ten seconds to hand the phone over to Cora before I hang up.”

“Remember Magnet the huldekarl? He wanted me to blow him. Told me I had nice lips.”

“10, 9—”

“Do you think I have nice lips?”

“8, 7, 6—”

“I didn’t want Magna cuz of the tail.”

“5, 4, 3—”

“But you’re so fucking hot. So. Fucking. Hot.”

“2—”

“And I trust you.”

“1—”

“I’d let you do whatever you want to me. I’d—”

Scott snatches the phone out of Stiles’s hands so forcefully Stiles loses his balance, stumbles, and becomes one with the ground.

“What the _hell_ , Stiles?” Scott shouts. “Whose phone is this? Who did you call?”

Stiles just laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he passes out.

 

Stiles is too drunk to drive himself home, so Cora commandeers the jeep.

“This isn’t the way to my house,” he says when he finally notices they’re heading in the opposite direction of his neighborhood.

“I’m taking you to the preserve,” Cora explains. “Derek warned me that you’d be in a lot of trouble if the sheriff found out you’d spent the night drinking Jack Daniels on a school playground.”

“Yeah?” Stiles slumps in his seat.“He’d be even more disturbed if he found I’d passed out drunk at the old Hale house.”

“You’re not going to pass out,” Cora says, and though Stiles can’t see her eyes at the angle he’s sitting, he just knows she’s rolled them. “The water heater is working now. You can take a shower and Derek can make you bad coffee.”

Derek _does_ make some excellent bad coffee, and a hot shower sounds heavenly right now. Yet…

“This is a terrible idea,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“Why?” Cora asks. Damn werewolves and their super hearing skillz. “Because it might put an end to all of your pining?”

Stiles sits up. “You’re actually hoping I’ll say something embarrassing, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to laugh when he rejects me.”

Cora gives him the side eye. “What makes you so sure he’s going to reject you?”

Stiles takes a breath. “Derek’s not shy. If he really wanted me he would have done something about it by now. He knew Jennifer Blake for all of twelve seconds before he made his move. And remember what Peter told us about Paige? She was openly hostile, but did that stop him? No.”

“Believe what you want to believe,” Cora says carelessly. “It makes no difference to me.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Stiles asks a few minutes later.

“Derek didn’t tell you?” Cora asks, sounding surprised.

“Tell me what?”

“About my girlfriend in New York?” Cora glances at him again. “Our Alpha?”

Stiles blinks. “So he’s not an Omega?”

“Not as far as we’re concerned.”

“And he doesn’t have a problem answering to another alpha?”

Cora shakes her head. “I think it helps that she’s a woman. That’s familiar to him, maybe even comforting.”

“He said…” Stiles shifts. “Derek said Laura would have hated me.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Cora says. “You’re obnoxious in a good day, and Laura didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap.”

“That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Stiles tells her, sarcastic as ever. “Seriously. Fills me with joy.”

Cora smiles. “Most of the time I don’t like you either.”

Stiles snorts. “Thanks for that.”

“But…”

“There’s a but?”

“Yeah.” Cora’s smile widens momentarily before she suppresses it all together, which is a shame because she has a very pretty smile. “What did you say to him earlier on the phone?” Cora asks.

“Who, Derek?” Stiles blinks. “I… I don’t really remember,” he answers truthfully. “Something about puking in the bushes, I think.”

  

Stiles jumps when he looks up and sees he’s not alone in the room.

“Oh, uh… hey, Derek,” he says, trying not to stammer. “Cora said it was alright for me to shower.” He gestures to the terrycloth bathmat he has tied around his waist. “She gave me a towel and everything.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Derek says.

“Well, yeah…” Thank you captain obvious.

Derek crosses his arms. “You’re underaged.”

“Since when do you care?” Stiles says, giving him The Look. “You let me drink beer here all the time.”

“That’s different,” Derek argues.

“How?” Stiles narrows his eyes. “How is it different?”

“When you drink here you’re with me.”

“So?” Stiles asks, crossing his arms to mirror Derek’s defensive posture.

“ _I’m_ not going to let you do anything stupid,” Derek says, though it’s unclear if the condescension is intentional or not.

“Scott has my back.”

“Scott can’t control you.”

_And you can?_ Stiles wants to ask, but doesn’t. The answer is obvious.

 “Ugh.” Stiles rubs his temples, not yet sober though already feeling the start of a hangover. “Can we not do this right now? I’m kind of naked and it’s kind of freezing up here.”

“I noticed,” Derek says, looking faintly amused.

“So, if you’re done staring at me,” Stiles starts, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’d like to get dressed now.”

“Hold on,” Derek says, learning forward, getting all up in Stiles’s face and— _Jesus Christ,_ he’s got one hand on Stile’s shoulder and the other on his hip, and his nose is pressed against Stile’s skin and he’s sniffing him. Derek’s breath tickles like crazy and if he doesn’t back off soon it’s going to be boner city under Stiles’s towel.

“Wow,” Stiles croaks. “Okay, just go ahead and ignore those arbitrary boundaries we humans refer to as personal space. This isn’t weird at all.”

“You still reek,” Derek says, backing away. “Like whiskey and chemical fertilizer.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans. “Really? I didn’t even have that much to drink.”

“Cora told me you took fourteen shots.”

“Oh.” Stiles swallows. “What else did she say? About me.”

“Nothing.” Derek eyes him suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason…” Stiles says quickly.

Derek frowns. “Do you remember calling me?”

“Vaguely.” Stiles shrugs. “Why? Did I say something embarrassing?”

Derek seems to be searching his face for something, but whatever it is it’s obvious that he doesn’t find it.

“No. No more so than usual.”

 

Derek’s been keeping track of the hours Stiles spends helping out with the renovations at the house. They haven’t discussed compensation, but Derek fully intends to pay Stiles for his work. It’s the least he can do. He appreciates Stiles’s contributions. There are about a million other things Stiles could be doing with his time. Honestly, Derek’s lucky to have him.

But he’s not stupid. He knows exactly why the kid’s been hanging around so often. Sure, Stiles is a nice guy who probably likes doing nice things for nice people, only Derek isn’t exactly a nice person. He’s not particularly deserving of anyone’s kindness. That’s not why Stiles is helping him.

Stiles feels shut out of Scott’s pack. He wouldn’t seek out Derek’s company if he didn’t feel replaced by Isaac. Derek doesn’t mind being the kid’s plan B.

But he has to draw the line somewhere.

The sheriff paid him a visit a month or two ago, which was bound to happen eventually. Stiles is Stiles. Derek understands why the kid’s father would feel the need to stop by for a chat.

It was obvious from the start that the sheriff was aiming to scare the shit out of him, and Derek would be lying if he said he wasn’t _extremely_ unsettled by the end of their conversation. He wasn’t exactly shocked when Sheriff Stilinski showed him the wolfsbane bullets he keeps in the glove box of his cruiser. The man’s friends with the Argents, after all. It wasn’t the first time Derek was threatened in that manner, and chances are it won’t be the last. Threats he can handle.

But then the sheriff had to go and tell him that he knew Derek would do everything in his power to keep Stiles out of trouble. He said he was counting on him. The man has faith in Derek, apparently. It’s not the first time Derek’s been expected to fight to keep other people safe, but it is the first time he’s felt like someone’s honestly expected him to succeed. He finally understands why Stiles goes to such great lengths to avoid disappointing his father.

Sheriff Stilinski also may or may not have given Derek permission to _date_ Stiles. Because despite Derek’s efforts to keep their relationship strictly platonic, everyone seems to think there’s something going on between them.

And then there’s the phone call. Stiles wasn’t lying when he told Derek he didn’t remember the conversation. Derek doesn’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment.

Because he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up.

Not that he wants to, but if he needs to, he’ll put a stop to it before it gets out of hand. Though, for now, he’ll let things be.

For now.

 

“Cora promised me bad coffee,” Stiles announces. He’s standing in the middle of the unfinished kitchen, wearing Derek’s clothes. Derek is also wearing Derek’s clothes, though he’s not standing in the middle of the unfinished kitchen. He’s sitting at the counter browsing through a stack of floorplans and blueprints.

“Then she can stop somewhere on the way to your house,” he says without looking up. “She’s taking you home now.”

Okay, is Derek purposely ignoring him? Is Stiles being given the cold shoulder? What the hell did he do to deserve that? Things were fine just a minute ago.

“I’m not taking him anywhere,” Cora says, appearing in the doorway. “Not right now, at least.”

“He can’t stay,” Derek tells her.

“Well neither can his car,” Cora retorts. “But I’m sure as hell not walking back here after dropping him off. It’s supposed to rain.”

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles says. “You’re going to make your sister walk in the rain?”

Derek looks up and tells Cora, “He’s not staying,” before turning to tell Stiles, “You’re not staying.”

“Fine,” Cora replies. “If he’s not staying here, then I’ll just have to stay at his house.”

“Also not happening,” Derek says. “Try again.”

Cora shrugs. “I guess just give him an hour or so to finish sobering up and let him drive himself home.”

“Hello?” Stiles calls, waving his arms to get their attention. “I’m standing right here. Don’t I get a say?”

“No,” Derek and Cora simultaneously turn to him and say in unison.

“Then what’s it going to be?”

Derek sighs. “Fine,” he says. “One hour. That’s it. I’m tired and I’m not a babysitter.”

“I have a curfew, you know,” Stiles says. He’s ignored. Fabulous. This is so much fun.

“What time is it?” Derek asks Cora.

“Almost midnight,” she replies.

“Oh!” Stiles jumps. “Perfect! If we hurry we might be able to catch the end of the shower.”

“Shower?” Derek repeats.

“He means the meteor shower,” Cora explains, though Derek still looks confused.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight,” Stiles says. “Don’t you watch the news?”

“No,” Derek says, and Cora snorts.

“Wanna check it out?”

“Not really,” Derek says bluntly.

Stiles blinks then asks, “Do you have anything better to do?”

“No.”

“Awesome.” He smiles and grabs Derek by elbow. “Let’s go.”

“You are a giant pain in the ass, you know that?” Derek grumbles, but he’s allowing Stiles to pull him towards the door so he can’t be _that_ opposed to stargazing with Stiles.

And it’s not going to be as gay as it sounds. Really, it’s not.

“You coming, Cora?” Stiles asks over his shoulder. “The view is supposed to be spectacular.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” she asks, brow furrowed.

“Uh…” Stiles flounders.

“What with the sky being so clear?”

“The sky?”

She stares at them for a moment and then shakes her head. “The two of you… I can’t even…”

Stiles wants to ask what her problem is, but he’s too distracted by Derek’s bicep to form actual human words.

This is a terrible idea, and he can feel it in the air.

But that doesn’t stop him from following Derek out the door.

 

“Here,” Derek says, dropping a blanket in Stiles’s lap. “If you get sick it’s not my fault, okay?”

“Thanks,” Stiles says. He waits until Derek is sitting next to him on the swing to spread the blanket out over both of them. The blanket is wool and it smells like Derek and it’s the best blanket in the world.

“Whose idea was the swing?” Stiles asks, getting comfortable.

“Cora. She said she’d never come back if I didn’t hang it.”

“What made you decide to do it?” His knee brushes against Derek’s.

“Do what?”

“This.” When he finally stops moving their thighs are touching.

“It’s what my parents would have wanted.”

“And maybe hunters will stop trying to make the house their lair.” Even through the fabric of both of their pants Stiles can feel that Derek is warm.

“Yeah,” Derek says softly.

“Mm.” Stiles sighs and shuts his eyes, just for a few seconds.

He dozes off, unsurprisingly, and wakes up with his head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

“Oh god.” Stiles blinks sleepily and sits up. “How long was I out for?”

“Few hours,” Derek says, sounding unconcerned. “It’s 3 am.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks, suddenly wide-awake. “My dad is going to flip!”

“I already called him,” Derek says.

“And said _what_?” Stiles asks, slightly horrified.

Derek huffs. “I told him you came out here to watch the shower and fell asleep. Didn’t want you passing out behind the wheel so… as long as you make it to school on time it’s okay for you to crash here.”

Oh god, what else did his father say? What are the odds that he _didn’t_ mention his mistaken assumption about their relationship?

“How’d you get my dad’s number?” Stiles asks.

“He gave it to me at the hospital,” Derek replies.

“He did?” Another unwelcomed surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says patiently. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Regardless of whether or not that phone call ruined Stiles’s life, it was still really nice of Derek to make it. Derek did a nice thing for Stiles. It was thoughtful. That phone call was really thoughtful, and Stiles is trying not to read too much into it, and he’s not getting his hope up, but still… It’s these tiny gestures, favors Stiles never asked for.

“So…” Stiles smiles softly at Derek. “Did you see any meteors?”

“No.” Derek points upward. “It’s cloudy. It’s been cloudy all night.”

“Oh, right…” The weatherman actually said something about expecting rain.

Derek pauses and then turns to face Stiles directly. “Stiles…” he starts slowly.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, suddenly his heart’s in his throat.

“Why did Cora bring you here?”

Stiles feels the back of his neck grow hot. “You know why.” Because if Scott managed to pick up on his feelings, they must be pretty obvious. There’s no way they’ve gone unnoticed.

Before Derek even opens his mouth Stiles knows he’s being rejected. Derek’s making that face. He looks uncomfortable, his expression is slightly apologetic, and there’s actual pity in his stupid, wide-set eyes. If he didn’t want to know, then why the hell did he ask?

It’s not as embarrassing as Stiles imagined. Stiles isn’t upset. Stiles isn’t taking it personally.

That’s what he tells himself, at least. He’s too raw for the truth right now. He’s not ready to admit how humiliating and disappointing and soul crushing and just plain awful rejection is. He feels sick. Sick, sick. Mamba venom sick. But he’d rather die then let it show.

“Stiles…” Derek sighs.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says quickly. “I’m not… I’m not expecting anything. Don’t worry.”

“Good,” Derek says firmly.

“Good?” Stiles asks in a very faint voice.

Derek nods, unreadable. “It’s not going to happen,” he tells him. “The sooner you accept that the better off you’ll be.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, feeling small, feeling young, feeling lost and confused.

“Because I don’t like you,” Derek replies. “Not like that.”

“Oh.” Of course he’s not interested in Stiles. What made Stiles believe he ever was?

“This isn’t even real,” Derek says, and he says it like he believes it. “You’re just a kid. This is a phase you’re going to grow out of sooner or later, so don’t mistake it for anything more.”

It would have been less painful, less jarring if Derek had just slapped him across the face. Stiles would have actually preferred it. Maybe then he could have at least braced himself.

“Yeah.” Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “Yeah, okay. Like I said before, I wasn’t expecting anything. That’s… that’s not why I come here.”

Derek looks a little bit like he wants to die, which, surprisingly, doesn’t make Stiles feel any less crushed. God this was an epic mistake. What the hell was he thinking? Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? Why was everyone being so encouraging when it’s clear Derek doesn’t return his feelings? And it’s not enough that he doesn’t return the feelings, he’s actually refusing to acknowledge that they even exist.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Derek says. “Trust me.”

Trust him. Right, trust Derek Hale.

“Okay.” Stiles hops off of the swing and dusts off his pants. “Well, I’m not drunk anymore.” Keep it together, Stiles. Keep it together. “And I’m wide awake.” For the love of god, keep it together! “So I’m… going to go…”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs. “That’s probably for the best.”

Derek Hale, ladies and gentlemen. Derek _fucking_ Hale.

 

Sheriff Dad (4:32) ARE YOU GOING TO BE HOME FOR DINNER?

Stiles S.      (4:33) I DON’T KNOW YET. WHY?

Stiles S.      (4:34) I’M NOT HAVING DINNER WITH THAT WOMAN AGAIN.

Sheriff Dad (4:35) BOND MARATHON ON AMC – JUST YOU AND ME.

Stiles S.      (4:35) OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Stiles S.      (4:35) COUNT ME IN.

Stiles S.      (4:44) I’LL PICK UP SOME MORE BROWN RICE ON MY WAY HOME.

Sheriff Dad (4:46) PLEASE DON’T.

 

“Are you okay?” the sheriff asks during the ten millionth commercial break.

“Uh, yeah…” Stiles replies, giving his father the side-eye. “Why wouldn’t I be?” They’re about to have a father/son heart-to-heart, aren’t they? Stiles should have known something fishy was going on when John didn’t try to doctor the vegetables with a mountain of salt.

“You just seem a little down and you’re not going out as much,” the sheriff explains. “Is everything okay with Scott? I haven’t seen him around here much either.”

“Scott is fine,” Stiles says. “Things with Scott are fine.”

“You can talk to me, Stiles. About anything. School, friends, monsters…”

“I know.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” Stiles insists, which, okay, is a little bit of a lie. He’s not _unhappy_. That has to account for something. He’s a teenager. Angst is to be expected.

John sighs and asks, a little meekly, “Is it Liz?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, Dad, it’s not Liz.” Not everything is about Liz. “It’s nobody, okay?” he adds, impatience creeping into his tone. “I promise. I’m fine.”

The sheriff nods, and to Stiles’s relief, the movie returns, and the matter is dropped. Until the next commercial break, of course.

“How’s Derek Hale?” John questions.

“Fine,” Stiles answers, though truthfully he has no clue how Derek’s doing. It’s been weeks since they last saw each other.

“Still just friends?”  John asks, far too knowingly.

“No,” Stiles says calmly, refusing to get worked up over that asshole. “We’re not anything right now.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “No.”

The sheriff studies Stiles for a moment then asks, “He hasn’t left town again, has he?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe? It’s not really any of my business.”

“Not your business?” John raises his brow skeptically. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Stiles makes a helpless gesture. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I told you that everything was fine.”

The problem is that John doesn’t need supernatural werewolf powers to know when Stiles is hiding something. The man solves crimes for a living. He’s not going to stop until he gets to the truth.

“Then what—” John stops mid sentence. His phone is buzzing. It’s lying on the table in front of them next to a bowl of the blandest popcorn Stiles could find.

Liz is calling. Her picture fills the screen and her name pops up in all caps every time she calls. She calls often, but not excessively so. Stiles knows she doesn’t do it out of boredom. She’s calling for a reason.

John looks torn. He wants to answer. Stiles can tell that he’s dying to answer. The fact that his phone was out on the table instead of in his pocket or charging in his bedroom means that he was expecting a call.

“It’s fine,” Stiles sighs. “I don’t mind.” He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect his father to let the call go to voicemail and call her back later, so he’s both stunned and hurt when John gives him an apologetic look and does the exact opposite.

“This’ll only take a second,” He tells Stiles, standing up and heading for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah,” Stiles say lamely. “Take your time.”

Fifteen minutes later the movie’s ended and John still hasn’t returned. Stiles is feeling less and less slighted and more and more pissed off. He needs air. He needs to go on a walk.

What he doesn’t need is to get kidnapped on said walk, which is what happens of course. A van pulls up beside him two blocks away from his house and then he's abducted. Easy peasy.

At least this night can’t get any worse, right? 

 

 

 

“If I were still an alpha—”

“ _No_.” Stiles cuts in. “Just _no_. Don’t be stupid. If you were still an alpha then Cora would be dead, so don’t even go there.”

“They shouldn’t have been able to overpower me like that,” Derek says, crossing his arms and holding them to his chest. He’s talking about their captors. This abduction is a personal failure in his books, which is dumb, but, then again, so is Derek.

“Just relax,” Stiles tells him. “This happens to me all the time, remember? I know what I’m talking about. It’s going to be fine.”

Derek shoots him a glare. “The last thing we should do is drop our guard. We need to break out now while we’re still strong enough to fight.”

“If we act like prisoners they’re going to treat us like prisoners,” Stiles explains patiently. “Our purpose is to lure Scott into a trap. They won’t gain anything by torturing or mistreating us.”

“You’re serious.”

“One-hundred percent.”

“I’m not making nice with these people.

“Look,” Stiles says,” here’s the deal. There are like twenty of them and only two of us. We’re not getting out of here without some help. Hence, we wait for Scott and the pack.

Derek huffs. “Stiles…”

God that’s annoying. Stiles really fucking hates the way Derek sighs his name.

“I’m sorry if you were looking forward to me getting my ass kicked.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from hurting you,” Derek says seriously. “You know that.”

How the hell did this failwolf become so full of himself? He’s a walking disaster, and he’s acting like his assurances should mean something to Stiles. It’s far more likely that he’ll screw it all up and get them both killed.

“Whatever,” Stiles says. The problem though, is that Stiles is still harboring a hopeless and embarrassing crush on this asshole, and hearing such a sweet declaration makes his stomach do a half-hearted somersault.

“Even if I cooperate they’ll still probably kill me,” Derek says, after another few minutes of quiet. “I’m a werewolf and I’m a Hale. The might torture me just for sport. Hunters don’t have any reason to harm you, but I’m not like you.”

“If you want to try busting out of here, then be my guest.” Stiles won’t deny the precariousness of the situation for Derek. “Just don’t expect me to go out of my way to antagonize these people.”

“I wouldn’t leave here without you,” Derek says, giving Stiles an unreadable look.

“Lucky me.” The worst part is that Stiles actually believes him.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Derek says quietly, and fuck him. He needs to stop being so fucking nice. It’s not fair. He shouldn’t be nice to Stiles. Stiles should be allowed to hate him. He shouldn’t be making it so difficult not to.

“What you said to me… that night at your house—”

“Stiles…” Derek sighs.

“That was pretty shitty.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Stiles stares at him. “Are you?”

Derek shrugs because he’s an asshole but that’s hardly breaking news.

“Most of the time you act like you hate me,” Derek says.

“Do you have selective amnesia?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

“Stiles…” Derek sighs again.

“No,” Stiles grits out. “Don’t you ‘ _Stiles’_ me. Don’t decide how I feel for me and then write me off for being a teenager.”

“Fine.”

“That’s it?” Stiles asks expectantly. “That’s all you have to say?”

Derek runs a frustrated hand through his hair and looks away. “I don’t know what you want to hear.”

Stiles shakes his head because this is fucking ridiculous. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Stiles repeats.

“Yes.”

“Want to know the difference between me and everyone else you’ve been this close to? I actually earned that trust. Have I ever once let you down?

“No,” Derek admits, finally looking back up at Stiles’s face.

“And…” Stiles starts off hesitantly, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Maybe you’re a teensy bit attracted to me? Or, you know, at the very least, not completely repulsed? I’d settle for you not finding me completely repulsive.”

“It’s complicated, Stiles,” Derek says, shifting uncomfortably. It might be because they’re sitting on the cold, concrete floor, but probably not.

But before Stiles can even formulate a reply the hunters are back, and their return is demanding both Stiles and Derek’s attention.

Because they’re wearing masks. Masks are a bad sign. Masks mean they’re going to do something they don’t want to risk being held accountable for later. It’s probably something awful.

Fuck.

 

So, Derek was right. He definitely has it worse. They took him away, and he did not go willingly. Stiles couldn’t really blame him. He’s not sure he wouldn’t do the same.

So now Stiles is locked up in a room with stale air, and very little light, and his only company is a weak and disoriented werewolf, who is still shaking from the aftershocks of whatever the hell they did to him. Where the hell is Scott? What’s taking so long? It’s been _hours_ , and Stiles doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

Because he’s still pissed at Derek, and he wants Derek to suffer, but not like this. Seeing him in such a pathetic state is making Stiles’s chest hurt. He wants to, you know, _comfort_ the guy somehow, but the possibility of rejection is a strong deterrent. Derek can just huddle up in his corner and twitch and Stiles will stay at least five feet away from him and pretend none of this is happening. He’ll pull a Derek and pretend not to care.

Stiles has never been good at pretending not to care. After an hour or so he breaks and crawls over to where Derek is slumped against the wall.

“Hey,” he says lamely.

“Hey,” Derek replies, his voice is hoarse, probably from screaming.

“You’re not lookin so hot,” Stiles tells him.

“Really?” Derek croaks, gives him a withering look. “Because I feel like a million bucks.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Stiles asks after a beat.

“They don’t know what they’re doing,” Derek replies. “The voltage was too high. I don’t think they want to kill me, but they came pretty damn close.”

Oh god.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say?

“Don’t be,” Derek says. “Better me than you.”

Oh god. Just stop.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Derek closes his eyes. “Not really.”

Stiles swallows dryly. “Derek…” it rare for him to be at a loss for words.

“It’s fine,” Derek tells him. “Just keep an eye on the door. He might not look it, but the tall one is weak. If they try to take you… he’s your best bet.”

Yeah, Stiles has no intention of leaving Derek here by himself. Even if the guy is a grade A douchebag, Stiles isn’t going to abandon him. They’re in this together.

“Scott’s probably on his way now,” Stiles says instead. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“His phone went straight to voicemail and you’ve already left him three messages,” Derek takes a shaky breath and opens his eyes. “Something is definitely wrong.”

Oh god.

Stiles scoots closer so they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder. “Maybe next time they show up with the phone I should try convincing them to let me call Allison or Isaac. Maybe even Lydia or the twins…”

Derek shudders. “It’s worth a shot.”

It’s worth more than a shot. Derek looks beyond miserable. His glazed eyes and sallow skin remind Stiles of the wolf bane bullet incident. Derek’s condition could be a lot worse. At least he doesn’t smell like death. At least he’s not vomiting black goo.

Though he does smell like burnt plastic, and the welts on his skin from where they shocked him are taking an awfully long time to heal.

“I’ll figure something out,” Stiles promises. Then, hesitantly, he reaches over and curls a hand around Derek’s bunch up fist. It’s mostly innocent, and simply meant to be a comforting gesture or sign of solidarity. He wasn’t expecting any kind of reaction from Derek.

But apparently just touching the dude’s hand is considered too intimate an act. Derek immediately shakes Stiles off and pulls away.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps.

Seriously? _Seriously?_ He’s going to pull that shit _now?_

Mortified, Stiles turns away, unable to face Derek’s scorn. “I was just trying to be nice,” he says defensively. “You don’t have to freak out at me like that. I’m not putting the moves on you.”

“I know that,” he says, sounding both weary and defeated. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but we have to be careful. We’re being monitored. There are cameras in this room. I saw one of them watching the feed. If they see us being too friendly they might try using it against us.”

Stiles is many things, but an exhibitionist isn’t one of them. He’s more than happy to keep his hands to himself. Though he does wonder… would Derek have reacted differently if they weren’t under surveillance?

“I can’t decide whether that’s really smart or really creepy,” Stiles says. “It sounds like something out of a horror film.”

Derek nods. “Watch out for the guard with the ponytail. He was saying some pretty fucked up shit about you.”

Oh god.

Stiles remembers ponytail dude. He gave off some major bad-touch vibes, and leered at Stiles in a way that made him feel unclean. Knowing that the creep is close by, watching them without their consent and thinking all sorts of horrible thoughts, make Stiles sick to his stomach.

“Were the cameras good quality?” Stiles asks. “If not… when the sun goes down it might be too dark for them to see us.” The only source of light in the room is the tiny barred windows that won’t open and won’t break. They’re high up on the walls above their heads and close to the ceiling. Stiles is pretty sure they’re being kept underground.

“They looked like they were from the nineties, and the picture was already pretty crappy.”

“So it should be safe…?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles falls asleep before it’s dark enough to move freely.

When he wakes up he’s alone in the room.

Derek is gone.

 

There is an upside to the whole voyeurism thing. Ponytail guy has a basket of phallic shaped foods delivered to Stiles. According to another guard, Ponytail guy wants to watch Stiles eat them. Under normal circumstances Stiles would try to hold out and refuse the offering, but it’s been around thirty-six hours since he took his last dose of Adderall, and he’s starting to feel the symptoms of withdrawal.

Stiles has the munchies.

When their captors bring Derek back hours later, Stiles tells them that he’s feeling drowsy and requests a bed.

“I can’t believe they actually brought you a pillow,” Derek says after he regains consciousness. Again, his voice is raw.

“There’s something really weird going on,” Stiles says. “Nobody’s picking up their phone, and these hunters are legit freaks.”

Derek nods weakly and struggles to sit up. “I don’t know that they’re hunters. I think they’re messing with us. They don’t smell right.”

“You mean they’re not human.”

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “But I’m beginning to think so.”

Stiles watches him shiver and sweat. “Why are they torturing you? Is it an interrogation?”

“They ask me questions I can’t answer,” Derek says. “Weird questions that don’t make any sense.”

“Such as?”

“I…” Derek shifts and winces. “I don’t remember…”

That’s helpful.

Stiles jumps to his feet. “Yeah, I can’t do this anymore.” He grabs the pillow and stalks over to Derek’s corner. “You have to let me help you. I know you have some kind of martyr complex, but this is ridiculous.”

Eventually, after much cajoling, Derek drops the routine, and Stiles is allowed to take care of him. It’s kind of awful but they both do an admirable job pretending it’s not. Stiles will wait until Derek passes out again to cry.

“I usually heal faster than this,” Derek tells Stiles, like Stiles doesn’t already know.

“Are you dying?”

“Not yet.”

“How long until you’ll be strong enough to fight?”

“A while.”

“Maybe if I ask nicely they’ll give me some bandages and gauze,” Stiles says, completely serious. “I think they like me better than you.”

“You’re being rewarded for your compliance.”

Stiles shrugs. “I’m sharing, aren’t I?” All he wants to do is eat everything in sight, and then shut his eyes and have a nap, but instead he’s given his pillow and the rest of his food to Derek. It’s a waste, though. The dude has no appetite, and he still looks miserable.

“We need to find a way out of here,” Derek says. “Or at least figure out what it is that they want from us. I don’t know if I can go another round.”

“Do they hurt?” Stiles asks, referring to the electrical burns.

Derek gives him a look of incredulity. “What the hell do you think?”

“Right.” He was kind of hoping that Derek would lie to him. “I just… I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Derek sighs and his eyelids flutter shut. “I think I was wrong before.”

“You’re wrong about a lot of things,” Stiles says. “So you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Laura would have liked you.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah.”

“Then why’d you think she’d tell you to stay away from me?” Stiles asks.

“Because you’re jailbait,” Derek says plainly, like this should already be obvious.

“I’m eighteen!” Stiles half-shouts, flailing for effect. “I’ve been eighteen this whole time!”

“Your dad is the sheriff. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”

“I’m legal. One-hundred percent legal.” Stiles says.

“It’s not that simple. You’re still in high school.”

“So, what, were you just going to wait until after graduation to make a move?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek admits. “I was never going to… make a move. You’re really weird and you say lots of weird shit… I just didn’t think you were serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“I knew you were feeling left out of Scott’s pack. Whenever they’d exclude you from group activities you’d come to me instead. I thought your feelings for me were misplaced gratitude, or that you just liked the attention. I’m older then you, and I’ve been out of school for a while. That makes me… appealing. It can be confusing and I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Kate Argent. Derek is seriously comparing himself to Kate Argent. And just when Stiles thought Derek couldn’t get any stupider. Derek’s relationship with Stiles is nothing like the relationship he had with Kate.

“You’re not her,” Stiles says, his tone adamant. He needs Derek to understand. “This is different. This is completely different.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to feel _guilty_ about wanting me,” Stiles blurts out, and oh god did he really just say that? The last time they had this conversation Derek made it very clear that he has no sexual or romantic interest in Stiles, and since then he’s done nothing that suggests otherwise.

 “That’s, of course, going off of the assumption that you want me,” Stiles says quickly. “Which is definitely not something I should be assuming because you know what they say about assuming… something, something, something, asses, or something.” Rambling is his own personal brand of damage control that, ironically, he can’t seem to control. “But, I guess for the sake of this discussion, you know, hypothetically and all, we can just pretend that you want me and—”

“We don’t need to pretend,” Derek says.

“What?”

“I said, we don’t—”

“I heard what you said I just want to know what you mean when you say it.”

“Seriously, Stiles?" Derek gives him a pleading look. "Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Stiles crosses his arms. “If by spell it out you mean give me an honest answer then yes, by all means, spell it out for me.”

Derek takes a breath. “Fine. I want you. I don’t know why I want you, and I know that I shouldn’t, but I do. I want you.”

"Okay." Stiles crawls closer to Derek’s face. “You realize that’s kind of insulting, right?” He couldn't have thought of a nicer way to say it?

“I won’t sugarcoat it,” Derek tells him. “I don’t like wanting you, and I’m trying very hard to stop. For both of our sakes.”

Fuck this shit.

Ignoring Derek’s whiny protests, Stiles sets the pillow on his lap and grabs Derek by the shoulders, manuevering him so that his head rests on said pillow. It takes a few minutes, and it probably wouldn't have been possible if Derek wasn't nearly comatose. 

“I’m being nice to you,” Stiles says, wiping the sweat off of Derek’s brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “So you’re not allowed to complain.”

Derek glowers. “I’m supposed to just lie here and let you pet me like I’m some wounded animal?”

“Yes.” Stiles says, as he combs his fingers through Derek’s thick, dark hair. “Even though you’re kind of gross right now, and touching you makes me want to wash my hands.”

“Nobody asked you to do this.”

“Feels nice though, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Derek huffs a sigh. “They kept asking about someone named Dindrane.”

Stiles groans. “Seriously? More of this King Arthur bullshit?”

“Feel like elaborating?”

“Dindrane is a character in Arthurian legend,” Stiles explains. “She’s the wife or daughter of some king.”

“Well, apparently Dindrane and I eloped a few months ago, and now they think I’ve killed her.”

Oh my god.

“But what does that have to do with Scott?” Stiles asks.

“Nothing,” Derek replies. “They keep calling me Hector, and every time I try to correct them they shock me.”

“Hector, huh?” Stiles strokes Derek’s stubbly cheeks. “You don’t look like a Hector.”

“I’m being _tortured,_ Stiles. It’s not funny.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “I can hear you screaming through the walls, and trust me, I’m not laughing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Derek asks. “You seem a little… off.”

“Mm.” Stiles blinks sleepily. “Yeah, just tired.”

“Why? You haven’t done anything.”

“I missed my daily dose of amphetamines so I’m crashing. I’ll ask Luther for some coffee when he comes back to take me to the bathroom.”

“Luther?” Derek questions. 

“The one with the accent,” Stiles answers. 

Derek nods. “What do you mean when you say ‘crashing’? Is this something serious?”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s been a while since I gave myself a break so the fatigue might last a few days. But… it’s actually kind of nice. Napping is euphoric.”

“I know what you mean," Derek says quietly. "Becoming a beta again… I thought not having the power of an alpha anymore would feel like a loss, but… I don’t know, it was kind of a relief. It was like a weight had been lifted.”

Stiles loves this. He loves when Derek confides in him. He’s starting to remember why he likes this idiot so much.

“You’ve mellowed,” Stiles tells him. “I like you better this way.”

“You didn’t like me before?” Derek asks, sounding unsurprised. 

“Not particularly,” Stiles admits. “But I won’t lie— that night at the police station, when you stopped Isaac from attacking me—that was _ridiculously_ hot. You weren’t a good alpha but you were a sexy one.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Oh my god are you _blushing_?”

 

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, as he slowly regains consciousness. Luther and Calum dropped him off fifteen minutes ago. Last time Stiles has to wait several hours for Derek to wake up, so this is progress.

Sort of.

The dude still looks like shit. He’s sporting some fresh stab wounds now, in addition to the unhealed burns.

Stiles steals a brief glance up at Derek’s face before returning his focus to the task at hand. “What does it look like?” he asks, dabbing the gross looking gash on Derek’s chest with a cotton ball soaked in what he hopes is an anticeptic.

Derek hisses at the contact because he’s a big baby. “They gave you a first aid kit?”

“Yep.”

“What are you wearing?” Derek asks, most likely referring to Stiles’s white jacket.

“It’s a lab coat,” Stiles explains. “Ponytail guy is a huge fan of _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

After that, Derek doesn’t ask anymore questions and Stiles works in silence, concentrating hard on getting his handsome and mysterious patient cleaned up.

“You don’t have to do this,” Derek says after a while. “I’ll heal more quickly now. They didn’t shock me this time.”

Stiles nods but continues working. “I told them not to. I made up some bullshit about the electricity interfering with your cognitive functions, which was why you were acting so clueless.”

“Oh.”

“Can you sit up for me?”

“Yeah.” It takes him a minute but eventually he does manage to pull himself upright.

Stiles stops again after he finishes with Derek’s shoulder. The only injuries Stiles has yet to treat are on Derek’s face. He has a split lip, two black eyes, and a cut on his left cheek.

Playing doctor with Derek Hale has been the opposite of arousing. A bruised and bloodied werewolf isn’t even remotely sexy. One of the wounds on his chest was oozing black goo. _Oozing_.

But Stiles hesitates now because there’s something strangely intimate about the face and he feels like he needs permission to go there.

“Can I put stuff on your lips?” he asks.

“I probably don’t need it,” Derek tells him. “I can feel my face healing.” And sure enough the bruises do look a few shades lighter.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Derek sighs. “Go for it.”

Part of Stiles wanted Derek to refuse, and after his fingers touch Derek’s lips, Stiles wishes that he’d never offered. He’s trying to stay calm but Derek’s staring at him with an intensity that makes his heart race. The bruises might be healing, but the cut on Derek’s bottom lip still looks painful and fresh, so Stiles has to be careful, and careful means slow. Again, in his current state, Derek’s a little repulsive, but his proximity is flustering.

“Rub them together,” Stiles says, after releasing the breath he knew perfectly well he was holding. Derek, for once, does what he’s told, and Stiles can’t help but smile in satisfaction.

“Still no luck getting ahold of anyone?” Derek asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I think of about a dozen reason why they wouldn’t pick up, but it’s weird that they don’t seem to be getting the voice messages either.” Stiles has a terrible thought. “What if they’re dead?”

“They’re not,” Derek tells him. “I’d feel it if they were, so stop being so morbid.”

“Okay.” Stiles is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Do they still think you’re Hector?”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “Have you told them I’m not?”

“No,” Stiles says sarcastically, annoyed by the accusation in Derek’s tone. “I told them that you’re a liar and suggested they beat the truth out of you.”

“I’m tired, Stiles,” Derek says, like it’s a reasonable excuse for being a dick. “I have no fucking clue what they want from us, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here, and I’m still not healing as fast as I should be.”

Right. So, maybe, given the circumstances, Derek is a little bit entitled to a bad attitude.

Maybe.

 

Derek drifts off and manages to catch about an hour or two of sleep. When he wakes, he looks significantly better. He’s still in no shape to fight, but his face has cleared up and the burns have finally healed.

“I had an epiphany while you were out,” Stiles tells him.

“Good for you,” Derek says, clearly indifferent.

“Have you ever read the Hunger Games?” Stiles continues, because he’s indifferent to Derek’s indifference. “Or seen the movie?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Stiles sighs. “Well, there’s this part where the protagonist’s friend is injured and kind of dying, and they’re in this fake wilderness so there’s not much she can do for him, but the whole thing is being broadcasted and televised, and if she wins the favor of the audience she’ll be given the support she needs to save her friend.”

“What’s your point? You’ve already won over these masked freaks.”

“True,” Stiles concedes. “But you haven’t. We need them to like you too, so…” Stiles clears his throat. “I think we should do what the characters in the book did.”

“Which was…?” Derek asks expectantly.

“They kissed,” Stiles says, looking Derek straight in the eye. “I think you should kiss me.”

“No,” Derek says without any hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Stiles asks, keeping his expression carefully blank.

“No,” Derek repeats, unwavering.

“Then why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because.”

Stiles heaves a frustrated sigh. “That’s not a reason. ‘ _Because’_ is not a reason.”

“I don’t care.

“Come _on_ ,” Stiles pleads. He wouldn’t be willing to endure the pain of rejection if he didn’t think the plan might work. “Just one kiss. Five seconds, without tongue.”

Derek growls. “Stiles, I said no!”

Obviously, Derek feels a lot more strongly about this than Stiles anticipated. The shouting was unexpected and for a moment Stiles is too stunned to speak. This must be the universe telling him to give up on Derek Hale for good.

“Alright,” Stiles says eventually, making a placatory gesture with his hands. “Okay. I get it. Message received.”

Derek doesn’t reply. Derek won’t even look at Stiles. Instead, he sits silently and stares at nothing. He _broods_. He broods sexily. His stupid face has completely healed, along with his other superficial wounds, which means he’s becoming more and more attractive by the second. It’s not fair. It’s really not fair.

“Fine,” Derek says after what seems like hours. “I’ll do it.”

Stiles blinks rapidly. “Are… are you sure?

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

Derek raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Do you want to do it now?”

“God, no.” Stiles laughs. “Dude, you’re still gross. I’m not sure I could stomach kissing you. We got to get you cleaned up.”

Ordinarily, he would have shown a lot more tact, but Stiles isn’t feeling particularly gracious at the moment. The child in him wants to reject Derek all together just to be spiteful. Stiles will settle for just being rude.

Derek glares at him. “Maybe they’ll find it endearing if I punch you in the face.”

“Doubt it,” Stiles says. “And we both know you wouldn’t dare.”

Derek doesn’t refute him. “Can we just get this over with?” he says instead. “And what do you mean when you say ‘clean up’?”

Stiles pulls a metal key from of his pocket and raises it triumphantly. “I earned bathroom privileges while you were away.”

“ _How?_ ”

“Good behavior.”

“Stiles, have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

 

“So we’re doing this,” Stiles says. “We are both consenting adults, and this is just one kiss, for five seconds, with no tongue. Not a big deal.”

Derek nods. He’s sitting across from Stiles on the floor, and they’re face to face. Stiles was able to score some toiletries and a clean shirt, so Derek is looking and smelling like a human being again.

“You actually expect this to work, don’t you?” Derek asks, giving Stiles an unreadable look.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t,” Stiles tells him. “Hector doesn’t sound like the type of dude who would willingly kiss another dude, so it might even convince them that they’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Okay,” Derek says.

“Okay,” Stiles echoes. And for a moment they just sit there and stare at each other.

“Well…?” Derek’s brow lifts and he gives Stiles and expectant look.

“Oh.” Stiles blinks. “You want me to…? Oh. Okay.” Stiles nods. “I will… the kiss…” he nods again. “Okay.”

Stiles scoots closer to Derek and sits up on his knees in front of him. He leans forward only to falter slightly when he feels Derek’s hands land on his hips.

“So you don’t lose your balance and fall on top of me,” Derek explains.

“Of course.” Stiles swallows. “Thank you.”

And then Stiles leans in and presses his lips to Derek’s. It’s hardly a kiss. Derek is barely responding. Stiles closes his eyes, counts to five, and then quickly pulls away. It’s like middle school only ten million times worse. Oh, this is just wonderful. Stiles wants to die. Stiles is ready to die.

When he reluctantly opens his eyes he finds Derek staring at him again, his expression unfathomable. Apparently the dude’s not a complete failure. He’s managed to successfully stop wanting Stiles. Just in the nick of time too.

Or not.

“Stiles—” Derek starts.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, cutting him off and wriggling out of his grasp. “That was fine, I just… have to go now.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “Go? Go where? We’re prisoners…”

“Lacrosse practice should be over by now,” Stiles says, standing up. “I should try calling Scott again.” Stiles is going to call everyone he knows. He needs to get the hell away from the walking disaster that is Derek Hale.

Derek fucking Hale.

 

Stiles returns about a half-hour later with his arms full of pillows.

“More?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “They’re seriously giving you more pillows?”

“Oisín feels bad about not getting me a mattress,” Stiles explains.

“Now I know why you’re not upset about getting kidnapped. You get these people to wait on you hand and foot.”

“I’ve adapted.”

“So I take it you didn’t get a hold of Scott?” Derek guesses.

Stiles shakes his head. “Every time the call connects I get hung up on. It’s really weird.”

“Did you little plan work?” Derek asks eventually. “Do they like me now?”

“No,” Stiles sighs and lets his shoulders sag. “They think you’re using black magic to seduce me. Just like you did to poor Dindane.”

“That’s not funny, Stiles,” Derek says seriously.

Stiles grimaces. “I’m not joking.” They could sense his misery. If the kiss hadn’t looked so awful maybe their impression would have been different.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Derek grumbles. “They’re going to punish me for that.”

“No they won’t,” Stiles assures him. “They’re letting me handle it.”

“Why?” Derek asks

“Because I’m eighteen and mature enough to make these kind of decisions for myself." Stiles gives him a significant look. "You're the only one who seems to think I'm not."

“Right.” Derek sighs and they sit in silence for a minute or two.

“Wanna make a pillow nest with me?” Stiles asks eventually.

Derek looks up at him curiously then blinks. “Okay.”

 

Stiles falls asleep. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. The fatigue is overwhelming, and he wakes feeling the opposite of refreshed.

“Why is it so cold all of the sudden?” he asks sourly.

“Because it never occurred to you to ask for a blanket,” Derek replies. There’s a distinct lack of sympathy in his tone.

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbles, curling in on himself.

“What’s your problem?” Derek asks after a moment.

“Nothing.”

“Stiles…” Derek sighs because that’s all he knows how to do it would seem.

“I just…” Stiles hesitates before continuing. “It’s been three days. My dad’s probably freaking out. I’m not nearly as miserable as I should be, and I haven’t put any real effort into escaping.”

Derek stares at him. “Do you actually _want_ to be miserable? That’s stupid, even for you.”

Stiles looks away. “I’m depressed.”

“Go back to sleep then,” Derek says.

“But I’m cold,” Stiles says.

“Okay.” Derek shuffles closer and drapes an arm over Stiles’s back. “Better?”

“Mm,” Stiles hums. He doesn’t know how to respond. Yes, it’s warmer, but no, he’s still cold and a little sad. Why can't Derek just man up and hold him for real? Would that really be so bad?

“If they don’t let us go tomorrow we’re busting out,” Derek says. “I should be strong enough by morning.”

“Me too,” Stiles says, adding, “well, strong enough to help.”

“Right.”

“You sound better,” Stiles says conversationally. "Definitely less grumpy."

“I’m still weak," Derek tells him.

"Oh," Stiles says. Boo freakin' hoo.

“You good?” Derek asks.

“I keep…" Stiles hesitates. "I keep having these horrible thoughts,” he says finally.

“Uh, okay...”

Stiles turns to face Derek. “You’re not going to ask me about them?”

“If you wanted me to know you’d tell me,” Derek reasons.

“I don’t know if I do," Stiles says. "You’re going to judge me. You’re going to think I’m selfish and immature.”

Derek sighs. “Then don’t tell me."

“Can’t you just promise not to be a dick?” 

“No.”

Stiles weighs the pros and cons of opening up to Derek Hale just this once and eventually realizes that he's got nothing to lose at this point. Things are already so messed up between them.

“Part of me hopes that my dad is suffering,” Stiles tells him.

“That’s because you’re selfish and immature,” Derek says.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if hasn’t actually noticed I’m missing," Stiles says, continuing as if Derek had never spoken. "It’s like he has a new family now. A better family. Liz isn’t dead; she’s not sick. Her kids aren’t hyperactive, sarcastic little shits. They’re not running around with werewolves. My dad would have never been considered a candidate for ritual human sacrifice if he had raised her son instead of me.”

Derek frowns deeply. “What’s your point?”

“I’m being replaced," Stiles says. "My dad upgraded his family and Scott has a new best friend.” Maybe that’s why he hasn’t replied to any of Stiles’s messages.

Derek looks distinctly unimpressed. “So in addition to being selfish and immature, you’re also completely delusional.”

“Yep, this was a horrible idea.” Stiles rolls over so he won’t have to look at Derek Hale’s stupid face. “Forget I said anything.”

Didn’t they already have this argument? Stiles is feeling a little bit of déjà vu. Who was it that said insanity is doing the same thing again and expecting different results? Because that's what this is. Insanity. Though even if Stiles is crazy, he's not stupid. Derek Hale is not a compassionate guy. Stiles really should have known better.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?" Derek asks. "Your dad loves you, Stiles. You have friends who care about you.”

“I _know_ that,” Stiles says, putting his face in his hands. “It’s just…it’s just…I don’t know…”

“Stiles.” Derek squeezes his shoulder. “Stiles, look at me.”

Stiles reluctantly turns back over and asks, “What?” 

“I sat through a two and a half hour movie about Polish folk dancing for you,” Derek says. “So stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself.”

A slow smile spreads across Stiles’s face. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Derek’s hand travels up the curve of Stiles’s shoulder and his fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“You’re giving me a lot of mixed messages,” Stiles says enjoying the touch far, far too much. “Do you even know what you’re doing? Or what you want?”

“We’ll figure it out once we’re free,” Derek tells him. “For now just relax and go back to sleep.”

Stiles wants to protest and demand Derek announce his intentions on the spot, but his eyelids are so fucking heavy, and these pillows are kind of awesome.

So he sleeps.

 

 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Scott asks. “That apology letter sounded really sincere and they _did_ let you go.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that they tortured Derek,” Stiles says. Having the Argents send some of their less scrupulous hunter brethren after the Fomoire bandits responsible for the kidnapping seemed like a fair enough solution. Certainly nicer than letting Peter track them down and maul them to death.

“Yeah, but don’t we hate Derek right now?” Scott asks. “It’s been how many weeks and he still hasn’t called you?”

Oh right. He does kind of hate Derek’s guts for kind of breaking his heart. There is that to consider.

Seriously though, if he doesn’t want Stiles after all he should at least have the decency to tell him that instead of leaving him hanging like this. It’s cruel.

“Maybe his phone is broken?” Stiles says weakly. “Luther had no idea his phone was broken, and it took me four whole days to realize the problem. Derek’s actually stupid so if his phone is messed up it could be months before he notices.”

“Yeah.” Scott offers a frankly pitiful smile. “ _Maybe_.”

“I hate him,” Stiles says.

“Me too,” Scott agrees. He's trying to comiserate, but Stiles just feels patronized. 

So he asks, “If I whine and sigh about him for three and a half months, but manage to resist contacting him, do I also get a really lame tattoo?”

Scott narrows his eyes. “What exactly do you mean by _lame_?”

“A lame tattoo is one that’s either plainly geometric or just super abstract,” Stiles explains. “That way I can conveniently assign meanings to it whenever it suits me.”

“Stiles…” Scott starts warningly.

“Ideally the transformative meanings would be create the illusion of character growth without me having to actually change.”

“Okay, you know what?” Scott jumps to his feet and dusts off his pants. “Fuck you, man. Here I am trying to cheer you up…” He points to the tattoos on his arm and says, “My ink is awesome and you’re just jealous.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. “I never said anything about your tattoos specifically, so if what I said seems familiar that’s entirely on you.”

Scott whips back around and shouts, “JEALOUS!” And Stiles breaks out into a fit of laughter. "You  _wish_ you had tattoos as awesome as mine!" Scott tells him. "You are so transparent. You're laughing because you're  _jealous!"_

Scott McCall may have the lamest tattoos on the planet, but Stiles has never been happier to have him as a friend.

 

 

Stiles wants to go back to the Hale house. He wants to pretend that nothing happened, or at least pretend not to care. He just wants everything to go back to the way it was. But every time he works up the courage to drive out there he ends up somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. And it’s not like Derek’s trying to get into contact with Stiles either. He hasn’t texted, called, or stopped by. It hurts a lot more than Stiles is willing to admit.

Beacon Hills is a relatively small town, so they were bound to run in to each other eventually. A month after the kidnapping Derek Hale strolls into the coffee shop where Stiles and Lydia are studying for exams. He walks right in with a smile on his face and a woman on his arm.

What the actual fuck.

“Do _not_ go over there,” Lydia orders. “I can’t handle any more of your moping.”

“How about I just concentrate on work until he leaves,” Stiles says, staring down at his notes. “You’ll let me know when he’s gone, right?”

“I don’t think he’s noticed you yet.”

“He’s a werewolf, of course he’s noticed.”

“Hm.” Lydia taps the lacquered surface of their table with her blue fingernails. “If it’s any consolation… you’re prettier than she is.”

“But she’s older.” Stiles chews his bottom lip. “That’s his type, older women.”

“They’re not on a date,” Lydia says confidently. “It’s not like that between them. I can tell.”

Stiles sighs. “It’s none of my business.”

“He’s spotted us,” Lydia says lightly. “So don’t turn around.”

“Oh my god.” This can’t be happening. It’s not fair.

“He keeps looking over here. It’s creepy.”

“That’s because he can hear us talking about him,” Stiles tells her.

“Well, that’s just cheating.”

Stiles stands up. “I’m going to get a refill,” he announces, ignoring Lydia’s disapproving look.

“Don’t even,” she starts, reaching out and grabbing him by the wrist. “That’s a stupid idea and you know it. He’s only going to upset you.”

“Isn’t that a little hypocritical?” Stiles asks. “This coming from you of all people...” Because Lydia has rejected him countless times and they're still perfectly civil. 

“Fine.” Lydia sighs, dropping his arm. “Just…just don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart again.”

Maybe Lydia Martin does care after all. Who would have thought? Stiles half expected her to tie him to the chair and refuse to let him go. Lydia's friendship is not something that should be taken for granted, but Stiles refuses to let her misguided attempts to protect him ruin his relationship (or lack therof) with Derek. 

Stiles only has to linger at the counter for a few moments before Derek notices him. He waits until he can feel Derek approaching to turn around.

“Hey,” Derek says. He’s got his hands stuffed into the pockets of his sexy leather jacket all nonchalant and unassuming. It’s obviously a ruse. Sadistic bastard.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles tries to sound like he was caught off guard, knowing full well Derek can see right through him.

“How’ve you been?” Derek asks. “I haven’t seen you in a while…”

“Alright, I guess.” Stiles shrugs. “Busy with school stuff.”

Derek nods. “Isaac told me that you went to visit the Stanford campus.”

Does that mean Derek asked about him? He can’t imagine Isaac bringing up Stiles’s personal life in a conversation without being prompted. If Derek wanted to know what Stiles was up to why didn’t he just get into contact with him?

“Yeah, me and Dad went last week,” Stiles tells him. The trip was supposed to be this whole father/son bonding thing. They went fishing and hiking too, and spent an afternoon at the beach. Stiles didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t love every minute of it.

“Cool,” Derek says, articulate as ever.

“You’re here with someone,” Stiles says, addressing the attractive, well-dressed elephant in the room.

“Yeah.” Derek glances over his should. “Eleanor. She’s an art dealer.”

“I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.” So it’s only the dealers he’s interested in. “I should—”

“Laura was though,” Derek says. “She painted.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again. “That’s nice.” Because Derek never talks about his family so Stiles doesn’t really know what kind of reaction he’s looking for.

“When we lived in New York…” Derek runs a hand through his hair. “She was really good. She sold some pieces, and…” God he looks so uncomfortable. “I want them… for the house, so… Eleanor is helping me look.”

“That’s nice of her,” Stiles says neutrally. “Coming all the way out to California…”

Derek nods. “Her husband was Laura’s favorite professor. They were… friends, and when they heard about…Laura and…what happened…”

“You _hate_ talking about this stuff, don’t you?” Stiles can’t help pointing out the obvious.

Derek almost smiles. “I hate talking about a lot of stuff.”

If that’s not permission to go for it—well then fuck it, Stiles doesn’t care about permission.

“Is that why you haven’t called me? You said we’d figure shit out once we were free, and then I never hear from you again.”

Derek studies him intensely for a good, long moment and eventually says, “You should come see the house.”

_“What?”_

“The house,” Derek says. “It’s painted now, and almost completely furnished. You should come check it out.”

Stiles lets his jaw drop. “Did you really just change the subject on me? Seriously? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to even bring this shit up? Do you think I actually like having feelings for you?”

“Any time,” Derek says, sounding like the unrepentant asshole he is. “You can come by any time.”

“Stiles?” a prim voice calls. It’s Lydia. She’s packed up their stuff and is holding his backpack out to him. Stiles accepts the bag and gives her a wordless thanks. Then, he turns to Derek and leaves him with these final words:

 “Go to hell.”

 

 

Stiles smells the smoke before he hears the sirens.

The blaze was small, and time nobody was hurt. The damage to the house isn’t extensive but the look on Derek’s face makes Stiles want to die anyways. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the work of those hunters they ran into months ago.

This is all kinds of fucked up and Stiles doesn’t even know where to begin.

Derek has infamously poor judgment. Most of the decisions he makes are bad ones. The conclusions he draws are usually wrong. He’s too rash to be a competent leader, and he’s too hostile to make a good partner. Not to mention, the dude has a _serious_ attitude problem. He’s a failwolf, and he’s a grump, and sometimes Stiles wishes they’d never met.

But Derek does try. He tries to do the right thing. It’s not his fault he’s stupid, and it’s not like he’s had any real guidance. He might not be leadership material, but he’s brave and he doesn’t give up. He has more patience than anyone gives him credit for. Stiles can testify to that. Derek acts like he doesn’t care about people but that’s only to disguise the fact that he cares a lot. He’s a good guy.

He doesn’t deserve this.

The firefighters leave shortly after the blaze has been put out. The sheriff sticks around to take Derek’s statement and doesn’t look surprised to see Stiles standing by his side. When they’re finished he asks Stiles to walk him to the cruiser. Here’s hoping that Derek is too busy brooding to eavesdrop.

“It was arson, Dad,” Stiles says. “I’m sure of it.”

“An inspector will stop by tomorrow morning to investigate,” he father tells him. “Until then… we can’t really say.”

‘But what do the firemen think?” Stiles asks.

“They suspect arson too, but it might be difficult to prove. Whoever did this went to great lengths to make it look like an accident. Faulty wiring, maybe. A home improvement project gone wrong.”

“ _An_ _accident_?" Stiles gapes at the sheriff. "The newly renovated Hale house goes up in flames and they want to label it _an accident_? What the fuck is wrong with the people in this town?”

“Relax, Stiles," John says, sighing. "I just told you that Hank and his boys think it’s arson too. The truth will come out. You just might have to be patient.”

Stiles scrubs his face with his hands then asks, “How bad’s it looking?”

“The structural integrity of the house remains intact," the sheriff tells him. "It should be safe to enter. The damage is confined to one room.”

“So Derek can keep living there?”

John nods. “If he wants to, yes.”

Stiles purses his lips and stares at the house. "This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again.”

“I know,” the sheriff sighs. “Is Hale going to be okay?”

“He’s survived worse,” Stiles says, though he knows that’s not a real answer.

“You promised you’d come to dinner with Liz and the kids tonight.”

“ _Dad_ …” Stiles whines because  _seriously?_

“But I’m assuming you’d rather stay here…” John finishes.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be left alone right now,” Stiles says honestly. 

“I agree. So you’re off the hook tonight.”

Stiles blinks in surprise. “Seriously?”

John sighs again. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Someone has to try, at least.” Stilse can't make any promises.

“Hopefully he’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid too. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I usually just wait for trouble to find me,” Stiles tells him. He looks over at Derek, who indeed seems lost in his own thoughts, and tries to get a read on his state of mind. He’s covered in soot, but not surrounded by a murderous aura, so they might just be okay.

“You call me if there are any problems,” the sheriff says. “Promise me you’ll call.”

“I promise, Dad." Stiles assures him. "You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”

The sheriff doesn’t look convinced. “Be good,” he says, giving Stiles a significant look.

Stiles wonders if his dad will ever trust him the way he used to. Telling him not to worry is pointless. The sheriff can’t stop worrying about Stiles’s safety anymore then Stiles can stop worrying about the sheriff’s health. It’s kind of their thing.

Sheriff Stiliniski is the last to pull away, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles tells Derek, though he’s not exactly sure what he’s apologizing for. “I’m sorry this keeps happening to you.”

“You should have gone with him,” Derek says. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“I would but I’m pretty sure the last time we spoke you told me I could come over whenever I wanted.”

That was over two weeks ago. Stiles is hoping the offer still stands.

Derek sighs wearily. “Just go home, Stiles. This isn’t a good time.”

“It’s never a good time," Stiles says, letting his annoynace show. "So I'm not going anywhere."

“Are you even listening to me?" Derek's eyes flash blue. "I don’t want you here. I want to be alone!”

Yeah. Fuck you, Derek. Stiles is having  _none_ of that tonight.

“You are so full of shit,” he says. "You're up to your eyeballs in it."

“Stiles…” Derek starts.

“You don’t want to be alone," Stilse says, talking over him. "You _hate_ being alone. It makes you miserable.”

“Stiles…”

“Think about it! Three years ago, back when you and Isaac and Erica and Boyd were pretending to be _The Boxcar Children –_ that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you! And you’re a million times less… _sour_ when Cora is around.”

“Stiles…”

“And you know how else I know? If you weren’t _desperate_ for company, if you didn’t absolutely _hate_ being alone, you wouldn’t even consider letting me hang around as often as I do. You spend time with someone you don’t even like just so you won’t have to be alone!”

_“Stiles!”_

“Go on then,” Stiles says, panting. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Derek says firmly. “ _Jesus_.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “This isn’t…”

“This isn’t what?” Stiles demands. "If this isn't... that, then what it is?"

Derek stares at him for what feels like a solid minute, if not longer, and Stiles realizes that in actuality, he has no fucking clue what goes on in Derek’s head. He’s always been the wild card, consistently throwing Stiles for a loop.

“We should go inside,” Derek says finally. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired.

Stiles’s body begins acting on its own accord, and his brain doesn’t catch up until he’s already pressed against Derek with his arms wrapped around his neck. Stiles is _hugging_ Derek, and he’s too shocked by his own daring to pull away.

But then the unthinkable happens. Derek returns the hug, holding Stiles close, holding Stiles so, so, close, like it’s the most important thing he’ll ever do. Derek is a wall of muscles and heat, and he reeks of smoke, but Stiles doesn’t care, because he can feel Derek’s erratic heart beat and he can feel every shaky breath. Stiles just _melts_.

“People are the worst,” he mumbles, his chin now resting on Derek’s shoulder. “Werewolves too.”

Derek huffs. “And Fomoire.”

“Luther sent me a fruit basket,” Stiles says, smiling despite himself. “And a sketch he drew of me sleeping.”

“Your dad must have loved that,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel him trying not to laugh.

“He was so disturbed.” Stiles hugs Derek a little tighter. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

They stand like that for another minute or so in silence until Derek finally says, “I need a shower.”

“Yeah.” Stiles releases him. “You smell like a campfire.”

Derek sighs. “You coming inside?”

“Do you want me to?” Stiles asks. He has good reason to feel insecure.

“Yeah,” Derek says seriously. “I do.”

  

“So,” Stiles starts. He’s sitting on Derek’s kitchen counter waiting.

“So,” Derek says.

“You never called me.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you have a really good explanation,” Stiles says. “One that you’re going to share with me now.”

“I don’t,” Derek admits. “I don’t have any explanation. Good or bad.”

“So what am I doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles wants to laugh but it’s really not funny. “You’re so bad at this. How is it that you’re you so bad at this?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe it’s you.”

Wow. Going to pretend he didn’t just say that.

“It’s not like this is your first time. Shouldn’t you know what you’re doing by now? It’s like every time I think we’re making progress you have to follow up with something completely idiotic and ruin the mood.”

“There’s usually not this much talking involved.”

“Then stop!” Stiles shouts, laughing because maybe it is a little bit funny. “Just stop talking. Stop talking and start touching.” He grabs Derek by the wrists and pulls him closer. “Put your hands on me. I’m sitting right here, and I want you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

After this bold declaration, all he can do is drop Derek’s wrists and wait. It’s his move now.

“I don’t deserve you,” Derek says quietly. But then his hands are on Stiles’s knees, parting his thighs and spreading his legs until there’s enough room for Derek to stand in between them. “And you deserve better.”

Low self-esteem isn’t really a turn on but his hands are big and strong and warm, and he smells like fire and sad.

Stiles puts on his serious face. “Did you miss me?”

“ _Miss_ you?” Derek repeats, like he’s not sure he heard Stiles right.

“I haven’t been back here in over a month,” Stiles says. “Did you even notice?”

“Of course I noticed,” Derek replies, his stupid frown deepening. Stiles closes his eyes. Derek has a hand curled around the nape of his neck and he’s stroking the thin skin behind Stiles’s ear with his thumb. It feels really good. It feels really, really good, and Stiles isn’t going to let Derek’s horrible face ruin the moment.

“So did you miss me?” Stiles asks again, reluctantly opening his eyes. “Or were you actually telling the truth when you said you liked being alone?”

Maybe being difficult really is his idea of foreplay. Maybe he really does get off on driving Stiles insane. All of these mixed messages are making his head spin and he’s starting to _want_ again.

“If you’re going to keep ignoring my question I’m going to assume that your answer is no.”

Because it’s not fair. It’s not fair for him to say the kind of shit that makes Stiles feel all warm and fuzzy inside after he’s already rejected him once before.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, gently knocking their foreheads together. “You know I missed you.”

But that’s not enough.

“Then why didn’t you do something about it?” Stiles demands. “If you wanted to see me or talk to me there are about a million ways you could go about doing it, and you did none of them. How were you okay with that?”

“I’ve gotten used to missing people I care about.” Derek says. His hands are resting on Stiles’s thighs, dangerously close to his groin. “It feels normal to me.”

That’s all kinds of fucked up and depressing, but not if you read between the lines. This is noteworthy progress. Derek Hale just admitted to caring about Stiles and now he’s kissing his way up Stiles’s neck, pressing the most _ridiculous_ , hot, wet, open mouth kisses to his skin

“Well I’m going away to college in the Fall,” Stiles says, burying his fingers in Derek’s thick, dark hair. “So you’re free to miss me all you want Monday through Friday as long as I can catch you on the weekend.” His hand is shaking and that’s a little embarrassing but fuck it. “Not every weekend, of course.” His voice is all shaky too but that’s probably because the scrape of Derek’s teeth and the burn of his beard against Stiles’s sensitive skin is too hot to ignore. “But I want to check up on my dad pretty often and you could visit me if you wanted maybe and—”

Oh, thank god. It’s about time! It’s about _fucking_ time! Derek Hale is kissing him. Derek Hale is really kissing him. The kitchen is quiet. The whole house is quiet. Derek _fucking_ Hale is framing Stiles’s face, the same way Stiles and Scott framed him for _murder_ , except Derek is doing it with his hands and he’s kissing Stiles, not trying to get him thrown in jail.

For the record, Derek Hale is an _excellent_ kisser. Derek _fucking_ Hale, in addition to being person of interest in several unsolved homicides, is probably also the best kisser in the world. Stiles lets him lick his way into his mouth and do that awesome thing with his tongue, because, right now, Stiles would let Derek do just about anything to him, and maybe that thought should scare him but it doesn’t. Or maybe he’s just too turned on to care.

Stiles scoots closer because he wants more, more of Derek and more of _this_ , whatever _this_ is. It’s … good, and it feels… overwhelming but also… not.

It reminds Stiles of his old shower. The one that had three temperatures; freezing cold, kind of warm, and devil hot. He has these memories of trying to adjust the temperature and the water suddenly going from tepid to scalding. And then instead of yelping and immediately jumping away from the spray like a normal person, Stiles liked to stand there, just for a few seconds, with his back arching, breath caught in his throat, letting the searing heat wash over him and set fire to all of the nerve endings rooted in his skin. And for a single heart beat it would feel like every cell in his body was awake and alive. Kissing Derek Hale is like taking that moment and stretching it, making it last.

So, in short, it’s really fucking weird. But in a good way. In the best way. Because it’s not like he’s never been kissed before, because he has, and some of those kisses were awesome too. His kiss with Lydia? That was epic and beautiful and perfect – the kind of kiss that belongs on a pedestal in a museum. But Derek? Derek’s kisses belong locked up in a mental hospital because they’re _insane_. They’re deranged. It’s only natural for Stiles to want more.

He wraps his arms around Derek and holds him, tightly, probably too tightly, But Derek doesn’t seem to mind. He actually makes this funny little amused sound that’s a thousand times less embarrassing than the moan Stiles let escape the first time Derek did the awesome thing with his tongue. What did he mean earlier when he said Stiles deserved better? What could be better than this?

Derek is hot. Everything about him is hot. His lips and his tongue and his hands and his body… Stiles’s Adderall wore off hours ago, and his mind is starting to wander. He stops focusing on kissing and starts _strategizing_. If he tugs on Derek’s shirt will Derek get the hint and take it off? Is it cool that he has an erection? Is Derek hard too? Is there a subtle way he can check? What does he have to do to ensure that Derek won’t stop? Are they going to have sex? In the kitchen? Is that even allowed?

Then the lips are gone. Derek pulled away. Why would he do something so awful and cruel? Stiles opens his eyes – he’d forgotten they were closed – and he’s face to face with Derek now, of course, and the bastard is _glaring_ at him. He’s annoyed with Stiles, and god only knows why.

“If you’re not into this we shouldn’t be doing it,” Derek says, and strangely enough, it sounds a little bit like an ‘I told you so.’

Which makes absolute zero sense because Stiles has been _pining,_ and Derek knows that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles says, because it’s the truth.

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “You were distracted,” he says, backing away even further until their bodies are no longer touching. And for some ungodly reason, his sexy arms are all unsexily crossed and he’s keeping his hands to himself, the greedy bastard. The kiss must have been some kind of loyalty test, or – oh god – what if he only kissed him to give his rejection more weight? Derek tried it and he didn’t like it. There’s no arguing with that.

“Distracted?” Stiles says. “Have you even met me?”

This is stupid. This is really stupid and it’s making him want to die a little. His body must be trying to recover from the adrenaline rush. That must be why he’s feeling all dejected and horny. This is a nightmare.

He let himself get caught up in the moment. Derek was probably just waiting for an excuse to push Stiles away again. That’s what he does. He’s a tease. Teasing Stiles with friendship and now this shit. The worst part is that his treacherous, teenage libido doesn’t care. It still wants that no-count, good-for-nothing jag and his glorious body. Stiles’s pants are uncomfortably tight because he’s still uncomfortably hard, and now he has to sit here with a boner while Derek rips his heart out and grinds it into hamburger meat.

God _fucking_ dammit. This is not okay!

“What were you thinking about that was so important it couldn’t wait?” Derek asks seriously. His eyebrows are raised and there are stress lines wrinkling his forehead. He doesn’t necessarily look angry. He looks… concerned, maybe? Nervous, even? Could this have something to do with his ten zillion trust issues? Because that would make sense.

Does he honestly believe that Stiles got distracted because he was having second thoughts? Did he think Stiles was chickening out? Was he trying to call a non-existent bluff? That’s so fucked up. God, Derek really does lead a stupid, sad, pathetic existence. The dude has issues.

But here’s the thing; Stiles likes Derek. Stiles likes Derek _a lot_. Over the past few months Derek has become an important person in his life. And this _thing_ – this ineffable _thing_ – confuses the hell out of him, but he wants it. He values it. It means something to him – even if it _is_ a little fucked up.

Stiles blinks rapidly, then lowers his gaze. When he looks back up at Derek’s face it’s like seeing him for the first time. Somehow Stiles doesn’t find this hilarious. He doesn’t have the slightest urge to make fun of those giant eyebrows or that weird mouth. He kind of likes this tension. He doesn’t want to diffuse it with a joke.

“I was strategizing,” he says finally.

“Strategizing?” Derek repeats. “What the hell do you need a _strategy_ for?”

‘ _You!_ ’ he wants to shout. ‘I need a strategy because you kiss like a crazy person and you’ve got issues, sexy, sexy issues.’

“You have a weird face,” is what he blurts instead, because his traitorous brain is working with his traitorous mouth to destroy his life.

“Stiles,” Derek says carefully after an unbearably long, unbearably awkward silence. “Are you freaking out right now?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Stiles admits.

“Why?” Derek asks, as if he honestly doesn’t know.

Stiles shrugs. “I just thought it would be easier. I thought you’d be better at this.”

“Well then I’m sorry for being such a disappointment,” Derek says, and he’s definitely being sarcastic.

“I’ve seen your game,” Stiles tells him. “You’re a lot smoother with other people.”

Derek gives him a funny look. “Yeah, but you’re not other people,” he says. “And you know that so stop being stupid.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I think I understand why you wanted me to go home now.” Because maybe Derek had a point when he said this wasn’t a good time for this, what with the both of them being more unbalanced then usual.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I invited you to stop by.”

Stiles blinks. “What did you have in mind?”

“I still need to shower,” Derek says after a moment or two of silence.

“So go shower,” Stiles says. “This is your house.”

“Okay.” Derek stares at him. “Are you staying or going?”

“I can stay.” Stiles clears his throat. “If you want me to, that is.”

Derek nods. “Would you rather wait upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“In my room.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Yeah, okay. Yes, that’s what I want.”

 

Stiles toes his shoes off and flops down face first onto Derek’s bed, smiling a little when he hears an amused snort and the bathroom door click shut.

Derek Hale’s bed is not an inflatable mattress, contrary to Stiles’s expectations. It had been an educated guess. He knows for a fact that when Derek first moved back he slept on a little patch—okay a _giant_ patch, of floor, which he’d covered with newspaper. Derek slept on top of newspaper. Like a dog or a hobo. Hobo Derek is a step down from Caveman Derek, because at least cavemen had animal pelts to sleep on.

His bed at the “loft” was already there when he “moved in,” so it was probably haunted by the spirit of whoever OD’d on it. The couch in that place wasn’t so bad. Why didn’t he just sleep on the couch? There were no mysterious stains on the couch. Maybe that’s where Cora slept?

Stiles isn’t really sure where Derek slept when he and Isaac were squatting at that abandoned subway station. Back then Derek was still an enemy of sorts, and Stiles still thought he was kind of terrifying. It took him a while to realize that Derek’s not such a bad dude, he’s just really stubborn and kind of stupid.

He’s also probably filthy rich. Peter once made some allusions to several sizable insurance payouts, and, yeah, the dude is a liar and a bonafide crazy person, but he’d have no reason to lie about Derek’s bank account. Stiles just figured that Derek _liked_ living in squalor or that maybe it was a werewolf thing. But Stiles knows better now; he knows that Derek’s just a freak. If it weren’t for Peter and Cora, Stiles would think Derek was normal. Now there’s a crazy thought.

But this bed—the one Stiles is currently lying on—and these sheets and this mattress and these pillows—Derek must have spent actual money furnishing his room. Stiles rolls around a little bit and confirms that he is, indeed, lying on a quality mattress—not something you see by the side of the road and get your buddies to help tie to the roof of your car. The sheets and duvet both look new, but they’re still plenty soft. Stiles has time to look for tags and labels, and he’s a little impressed by what he finds.

Five-hundred thread count pima cotton sheets, a six-hundred thread count sateen duvet cover, a down comforter, and pillows that don’t smell like wet dog. Scott’s pillows smell like wet dog and he claims it’s a werewolf thing but obviously he’s a liar too.

Yes, this is not an inflatable mattress. This is a real bed. Stiles approves.

Once he’s comfortable, once he’s so comfortable he could cry, Stiles decides that if Derek wants him off of this bed, he’ll have to have him physically removed. Even as the sun dips below the horizon and the room grows dark Stiles can’t muster the resolve to get up and turn on a lamp. Instead he just lies there, on the best bed in the world, and lets the sound of running water lull him to sleep.

But not for long. Soon after, the bathroom door opens and he’s roused by a flood of light and the sound of Derek opening and shutting drawers.

Stiles keeps his eyes closed because he figures it’s the polite thing to do, especially after he hears a towel drop to the ground. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Derek’s probably naked. The thought leaves Stiles flustered, which is embarrassing, to say the least. He hides his face in the pillow so Derek won’t see his red cheeks. The guy’s ego doesn’t need the stroking, and Stiles doesn’t want to do anything that might draw attention to the age difference. Stiles acting like a twelve-year-old girl would do just that.

He wonders what Derek is thinking about. He wonders what Derek’s shampoo smells like. Does it smell as good as his pillow?

“I know you’re awake,” Derek says quietly. His tone is soft, but Stiles can still hear him loud and clear. He’s close, very close. “But it’s okay if you want to keep pretending.”

Stiles is very much aware of the fact that Derek can probably hear his heart fluttering in his chest, beating like the wings of a hummingbird. “I’m not pretending,” Stiles tells him.

“Then open your eyes.”

And he does. Stiles turns away from the pillow, shifts so he’s lying on his back, not his stomach, and he opens his eyes. He opens his eyes and his breath kind of catches in his throat.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, his voice unusually hoarse. Derek is standing next to the bed, looming over Stiles. He’s not naked, unfortunately. He is, however, shirtless, and giving Stiles an eyeful of his rippling abdominal muscles. Stiles shifts a bit and tilts his head so their faces are more aligned, in the hopes that Derek’s weird mouth will distract him from the rest of Derek’s body. He blinks slowly then says, “What’s up?”

Derek doesn’t respond, at least not with words. That weird face of his is sending all sorts of messages, most of them discouraging. He’s not exactly glaring, but his eyes are narrowed and his gaze is sharp. He’s not exactly frowning either, but his jaw is clenched and his mouth is a thin, grim line. All things considered, it’s not a bad look on him.

Stiles watches two beads of water drip from his hairline, roll down his neck, and pool at his collarbone. Derek Hale is so goddamn fine Stiles has to wonder if this is all just a incredibly vivid dream. He licks his lips unconsciously and reminds himself that it wouldn’t be the first dream he’s had about a half-naked Derek pinning him to his bed.

Because that’s what Derek is doing. He’s bracketing Stiles’s torso with his arms, bracing his weight with hands flat on the bed. Jesus Christ, those _biceps_. Stiles can’t stop staring at Derek’s body. He’s trying. He’s really trying, but those stupid muscles stupidly flex every time Derek stupidly moves, and it’s fucking fascinating. It’s only after Derek stills that Stiles is able to tear his eyes away and look back up at his face.

He’s so close. He’s so, so close. They’re almost nose-to-nose.

And then Derek’s kissing him again, slowly, carefully, and deliberately. It’s different this time, not as overwhelming but definitely more intense. Stiles whines a few seconds later when Derek pulls away.

“Sorry,” Derek says, showing no real signs of remorse, because he’s like that.

Stiles lets out a shaky exhale. “Why’d you stop?”

Derek cups Stiles’s jaw with a warm hand. “Didn’t want to get carried away.”

“But I do.” Stiles swallows audibly. “I want you to get carried away. Please, by all means, get carried away.”

“Yeah?” Derek traces the seam of Stiles’s lips with his thumb. “You’re allowed to spend the night here?”

Stiles nods slightly. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

“Argent gave your father wolfsbane bullets,” Derek tells him. “He showed them to me, Stiles. I need to know that what I’m about to do to you isn’t going to get me killed.”

Oh my god.

“What are you about to do to me?” Stiles asks, already a little breathless.

He sits up and backs away. “Take your clothes off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Clothes. Off.” Derek says. “I want to touch you and they’re in the way.”

“ _Seriously_?” Stiles asks, still in disbelief.

Derek gives an offhanded shrug. “You’re wearing too many layers for me to just tear them off.”

“You really are a caveman, aren’t you?” Stiles grumbles. He has to stand to undress, and that means no more lying on the bed like a lazy lump. It’s Derek’s turn to lie there, reclining against the pillows, and— “Oh my god are you watching me?”

“Yes,” Derek admits, completely unabashed.

“Well, I hope you’re not expecting a strip tease or anything like that,” Stiles says, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

Derek barks laughter, and somewhere in the world a baby just punched a kitten in the face. “Trust me Stiles,” Derek says, still laughing. “That’s the last thing I expect from you.”

So this is awful. Standing in his underwear in Derek Hale’s bedroom while Derek Hale lounges in bed and laughs at him. And they were doing so well!

“Yeah, I know. It’s _hilarious._ Me… stripping for you. I can definitely see the humor in that.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, waving Stiles over. “Stop being stupid.”

“No.” Stiles crosses his arms. If it hadn’t been for that last comment he would have gone, but instead he’s rooted to the ground.

“Stiles…” Derek sighs and stands up. “Please, Stiles.” And then he offers Stiles his hand like a some kind of gentleman.

But Stiles is having _none_ of that. Because Derek Hale is not a gentleman. He doesn’t need to be. Not for Stiles. That’s the whole point. They don’t have to pretend for each other. This isn’t a performance.

Derek Hale is a mangy werewolf with a heart of gold.

“Did you just call me _mangy_?” Derek asks, his tone betraying both his fondness and disbelief.

“And if I did?" Stiles challenges. "What are you going to do about it?”

Derek huffs. “You know what?” he asks, mostly likely rhetorically. “Fuck it.” And then he just kind of pounces, like an animal. Like a predator. Like a hungry predator that’s finally cornered its prey.

Oddly enough, Stiles feels no pain when Derek slams him against the wall. He’s lucky his skull doesn't crack from the force of it. But Derek’s hand is in his hair, cupping the back of his head and cushioning the impact. It’s surprisingly considerate.

“Oh my _god_.” Is all he has a chance to say before Derek is kissing him again.

It's one of those filthy kisses too. The hot and sloppy kind that's all tongues and no shame. Derek's hands are everywhere, stroking Stiles's bare skin with enough pressure to put him on the brink of sensory overload. Fuck, and then Derek rolls his stupid hips and grinds there pelvises together, and Stiles almost dies of embarrassment because he suddenly and not so inexplicably goes weak at the knees. Derek has to hold him by the waist to keep him from falling. When he finally pulls away they're both panting.

"You have... you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that for," Derek says in between labored breaths.

Stiles wants to say something sexy and maybe a little witty in reply but Derek short-circuited his brain with that kiss and now he's a bit hysterical.

"Oh my god," he says again and then starts to laugh. He starts to _really_ laugh, like an actual crazy person.

"I know," Derek says and then he draws Stiles in and kind of holds him. He lets Stiles wrap his arms around him and press his face into his neck and just laugh. Stiles can feel Derek snickering, but he doesn't really care because the dude is rubbing his back and acting like what Stiles is doing is perfectly normal and he doesn't mind at all.

And then Stiles asks, his voice slightly muffled, "Can we have sex now?" 

"Yes," Derek breathes into his ear, huffing laughter now too. "We can do whatever you want.

"Really?" Stiles asks. He's kissing Derek's neck because he's in the neighborhood so he might as well.

"We've got all night," Derek says, and the next thing Stiles knows Derek is lifting him off the ground and dropping him down onto the bed. Stiles bounces a little and then lies back and grins.

"This is a dope-ass mattress," he tells Derek.

"Yeah?" Derek raises his eyebrows. "I might have had you in mind when I bought it."

"That," Stiles says, "is the single most romantic thing anyone has said to me. _Ever_." Derek sighs and rolls his eyes, but when he crawls on top of Stiles he looks mighty pleased with himself.

"You gonna shut up and let me kiss you?" he asks. And in typical Derek fashion he doesn't wait for a reply before going in for the kill. Making out with Derek Hale has officially become Stiles's new favorite passtime. Oh my god. And Derek Hale slipping his hand down the front of Stiles's boxers is a infinitetly more exciting then any porn he's ever watched.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles groans.

"We could have been doing this for months," Derek says, and lucky for him it's clear in his tone that he's berating himself for his ineptitude, not Stiles.

"Months?" Stiles lifts his hips. "How many months?"

"Honestly?" Derek kisses Stiles on the mouth, short and sweet. "I would have fucked you my first day back in Beacon Hills with minimal convincing." Stiles feels like his chest has suddenly inflated with helium and it's wonderful. "If only you hadn't gotten yourself kidnapped that night."

"I hate you," Stiles says, but not really. It's kind of a huge ego boost; knowing Derek's been attracted to him from the start.

" _Liar_ ," Derek whispers, and honestly Stiles is kind of glad Derek sees right through him.

"It won't be a lie if you don't start doing something with that ha- _haand_ —” Stiles gasps. Derek has finally decided to get with the program and now has his fist closed around Stiles's cock. It's so much more fun than when he does it himself.

So that settles it. Derek Hale does, in fact, like The D.

Stiles comes embarrassingly fast. He lasts  _maybe_ a minute and a half, which is probably a good thing, actually. Derek's hand was kind of dry, and there's stupid chafing to worry about, or in this case not worry about. Derek just kind of shrugs it off and cleans up.

"It was hot," Derek assures him. "I promise."

"Yeah?" Stiles is a little dubious. 

"Clearly," Derek says, motioning to the tent in his boxers. Stiles sits up.

"You should let me give you a blow job," he says.

Derek stares at him. "You're not expecting me to say no, right?"

"Well, I've never given one before," Stiles explains. "So I might be bad at it."

Derek looks like he's trying not to laugh. "If you're careful with your teeth I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Stiles decides he doesn't really mind giving head. He's not exactly looking forward to getting down on his knees for Derek again, but it was kind of fun and didn't taste nearly as bad as he feared. Derek was really nice about it too, polite even. His fingers were buried in Stiles's hair, and his hand was cupping the back of Stiles's skull, but he wasn't applying any pressure.

It also helped that he was vocal, telling Stiles what he liked and what felt good. It was a little bit of an instructional experience, which Stiles actually appreciated. Derek also warned him when he was getting close, so Stiles could pull away and finish him with his hand, avoiding the spit/swallow dilemma altogether.

"Ten out of ten," Stiles tells him. "Would blow again."

Derek just shakes his head. "You're insane. You're actually insane."

They both kind of fall asleep after that. There's no cuddling, but whatever. Stiles is too tired to care. He rests for an hour or so before Derek wakes him again, gently shaking his shoulder.

"What's up?" Stiles blinks sleepily. "Are we going to have _sex_ sex now?"

"No." Derek throws a pair of sweatpants at him. "Peter's sniffing around outside. I need you to help me talk him down from killing those hunters." Stiles must look disappointed because Derek adds, "We can have sex tomorrow night."

" _Fine,_ " Stiles sighs. "Do you think maybe we could talk him into getting us a pizza too?" Because if Derek's not going to fuck him the very least he could do is feed him instead.

"Worth a shot," Derek says. He holds up one of his infamous Henleys. "Do you want a shirt?"

"Yes," Stiles replies, even though there's nothing wrong with the shirt he had on before. "Have any idea what you're going to say to him?"

"Nope." Derek heads for the bedroom door and gestures for Stiles to follow. "Let's go, before he wolfs out."

Stiles nods and says, "Right behind you," before following him out into the hallway. They both stop at the top of the stairs, and Derek turns to face him.

"One last thing," he says, leaning in. But Stiles beats him to the punch, grabbing him by the face and kissing him stupid.

Then Derek smiles his awful troll smile, and Stiles thinks he might be a little bit in love with him.

And he's surprisingly okay with that.

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

  
They do in fact manage to convince Peter to go out and get them a pizza. The three of them sit on the couch in what's left of the living room and watch _Full House_ on a television they dragged in from another room. The whole thing is kind of surreal. Derek holds his hand. 

What is this world coming to?

The following night Derek holds true to his word, and Stiles finally loses his virginity. It's a little awkward and a little painful and there's even more inappropriate laughter, but it's still amazing. They use a condom like the responsible adults that they are, and plenty of lube because they're not stupid either.

And afterwards, just as Stiles is about to drift off to sleep, Derek rolls over and whispers, "Ten out of ten would fuck again." 

And Stiles breaks into peels of side-splitting laughter. He laughs so hard it hurts, and maybe a tear or two rolls down his cheeks. Derek starts beating him with a pillow to get him to stop, which of course only makes it worse. Stiles calms down a little when Derek wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest. Later Derek will admit that he was nervous Stiles was going to have a panic attack and warns him that next time he'll be using the pillow to smother him.

They fall asleep spooning but separate shortly after because Stiles is a restless sleeper and keeps elbowing Derek in the face. In the morning Derek makes him slimy eggs and burnt toast.

So, in other words, they live happily ever after, and neither of them gets kidnapped ever again.

 

 

The End.

 

 


End file.
